Steady as We Go
by ice princess deluxe
Summary: When Moira wished for an adventure of her own, this was not what she had planned.  Sequel to Someone Like You and prequel to A Rush to the Start
1. Chapter 1

Title: Steady as We Go  
Rating: PG  
Summary: When Moira had wished for an adventure of her own, this was not what she had in mind.  
Pairings: Alistair + Moira friendship, vague Nathaniel/Moira  
Note: Sequel to _Someone Like You_ and prequel to _A Rush to the Start_.

* * *

Alistair couldn't help but notice that the girl walking towards him looked horribly lost. _Not lost as in_ _I have no idea where I'm going and whoever sent me out on an errand neglected to provide a map_, he thought, _but rather like she knew where she was headed to but didn't know exactly where she belonged once she got there._ He had to admit that she was quite pretty if you ignored the pale, drawn expression on her face and the fact that her chestnut colored hair looked as if it had lost a fight with a pair of dull shears. She looked uncomfortable standing there in armor that was slightly too big for her frame that was clearly borrowed and a shield slung across her back that showed that she was unfamiliar with how to carry it. Alistair watched as she moved out of the mage's way, her eyes cast downward and politely murmuring "excuse me" underneath her breath. _Either a servant or someone who doesn't hold any prejudice towards the Circle,_ Alistair mused. _No, not a servant. Look at the way she holds herself._

"You know, the one good thing about the Blight is how it brings everyone together," Alistair said by way of greeting once she got closer to him. Now that she was closer he could see that the very tips of her hair did look a bit singed and it seemed as if she had been the one to cut her own hair; the back portion was a bit longer than the parts on either side of her head.

The young woman's hazel eyes looked haunted, but the edges of her mouth tipped upwards into a ghost of a smile. "I know exactly what you mean," she replied.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if we just all sat around together and held hands while singing songs? It surely would give the darkspawn something to think about."

She gave a dusty sounding chuckle. "You must be Alistair."

He gave her a wary look. "Well, that depends. You wouldn't happen to be another mage, would you?"

She shook her head. "And if I was?"

He shrugged. "It would just mean that I'd have a chance of offending yet another person before the sun went down today. Oh well, I still have a few hours left before that."

"Duncan didn't exaggerate when he said you have quite the odd sense of humor."

Alistair cocked his head to the side. "So you must be the new recruit, the one from Highever. I was wondering when the two of you would come back." He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, my name is Alistair."

She took his hand, her handshake surprisingly firm and steady for a woman. "My name is Moira."

He snapped his fingers. "_Right_, that was the name. Duncan had sent word ahead you informing the rest of us Wardens . You know, I don't recollect ever having very many females in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that was."

She arched her eyebrow. "Would it help if you didn't think of me as a woman?"

He stood up straighter. "Yes _Ser_," he said, grinning. "But in all seriousness, as Junior Warden, it will be my duty to help you and the others on a small yet very important mission before your Joining. You have met the other two, haven't you?"

She shook her head. "No. Duncan sent me to gather you directly."

_Ah, good. She's the type to follow her superior's directions. She has the look of a noblewoman to her – I was hoping that she wouldn't be the type to complain and whine._ "We might have a chance to see them on the way back to Duncan. He's more than likely waiting by the bonfire. It's where several of us have decided to make camp."

"Some of us? How many Wardens are here in Ostagar?"

"All of us." Alistair gestured for Moira to take the lead down the stone stairs and he followed to her left. "When the King commands our presence, it's most unwise to not follow his orders to the letter."

Moira swallowed, thinking that her father had said almost the same thing not but several weeks ago. _Don't think about that now_, she told herself, swallowing a lump that had formed in her throat. _You must get back to Duncan and begin this mission Alistair mentioned. Everything else can wait for now._ Even though she knew that Cailan had said that Fergus' company was out in the Wilds, she couldn't help but look all around the camp, her eyes hoping for a glimpse of a familiar face and her ears straining to listen for her brother's voice. _Oh Fergus, whatever shall I tell you once I see you again?_ She might have had two weeks to prepare for meeting her brother again, but she was still at a loss as to how to explain Howe's treachery and their family's demise to him. Her hand went to her chest where she kept her parent's wedding rings and her father's signet ring. She'd been terrified of losing the now priceless treasures early on in her journey, so she had threaded the three rings through a piece of twine and knotted it at her neck. The makeshift necklace now rested underneath her cuirass and thin wool padding, the rings settling firmly next to her skin.

They passed a soldier guarding a man stripped of his clothing and hanging in a cage. His cheeks were so hollow that it almost seemed as if his skin were stretched much too tightly over his skull. Moira felt a pang of sympathy for him, especially when she saw him eyeing his guard's half-finished dinner. Something made her go over to him and strike up a conversation and she listened as the man told her that he had been caught deserting. His reasons for leaving seemed reasonable to Moira and she felt as if his punishment was unfair. Without saying another word, she went over to his guard and cajoled him to spare the rest of his meal.

"The man is going to wind up being hung anyway," she said, hoping to persuade the guard. "What harm would it be to give him at least one last meal before he swings from a nearby tree?"

"Well…" The guard grumbled, but eventually handed over his food and flask of water. "But if anyone asks why he's burpin', I'm blaming you."

"That was a nice thing that you did," Alistair commented as they left.

"No one deserves to be treated so cruelly," she replied, dusting off her hands from where she had gripped the rusty bars of the cage in order to hand the food and water up to the prisoner. "Especially when they have not earned it."

They made it back to the bonfire without bumping into the other two recruits. Duncan told Alistair where they might be and sent him off to collect them. "What do you think of Alistair now that you've met him?" Duncan asked once they were alone.

"He seems to have a good sense of humor," Moira said, scratching between Quinn's ears when her Mabari came up to her. He sat at her feet and leaned against her leg, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he let out a satisfied sigh at having his mistress back where he could keep an eye on her. "He mentioned that he would be coming along with us on a task before our Joining."

Duncan nodded. "I'll elaborate on what that task is as soon as he comes back with the others."

"What is the Joining? Alistair evaded all of my questions when I asked him, saying that it was something exclusive to the Wardens and therefore quite secret."

"It is. All shall be revealed in due course once the four of you return from the Wilds."

Moira was going to ask him something else, but Alistair came back just then with two other men. One was quite tall and sturdy looking, a greatsword strapped across his back. The other was a bit shorter and carried two daggers. Moira instantly recognized from his stance that he was skilled in the rogue school of talents. She also noticed how he recognized the same from her after he had finished looking her over as if she were a tempting piece of meat hanging in the butcher's shop window. Quinn's ears instantly flattened against his head and he let out a soft warning growl.

"This is Ser Jory," Alistair said, introducing the man wearing the greatsword. "He hails from Highever as well, even though we recruited him out of Redcliffe."

"Nice to meet you," he said, nodding his head in welcome.

"And this is Daveth," Alistair continued, gesturing towards the second man. "He's a…_fellow_ we picked up in Denerim."

"Pleasure to meet you, my lady," Daveth said, waggling his eyebrows.

"And this, gentlemen, is our newest recruit."

"Nice to meet you," Moira said, dipping into the slightest curtsey on reflex, years of habit making her move before her brain could catch up to her body. _And how Mama would have laughed, _Moira thought sadly._ Her hellion has finally decided to show off the manners that have been drilled into her head since childhood._ "My name is Moira."

"Now that we've all been introduced," Duncan said. "Let us get down to business. I have several tasks for the three of you to perform before we can get to your Joining. As you well know, the Wilds have been taken over by darkspawn. The first task is a sort of test: You are to bring back three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each of you. I know none of you have faced darkspawn before, so this will be a good learning opportunity as well as a test to see if you can stand defeating these creatures."

"What is the second task?" Moira asked. She wondered what the blood would be used for, but decided that Duncan was the sort of person who would explain everything in due course instead of answering questions shot at him left and right.

"The second task I have for you to complete is to retrieve a chest from an abandoned outpost nearby. The Wardens of Ferelden used to keep watch here before it became too difficult to spread our forces out so sparingly. The chest contains very important scrolls detailing treaties that different entities have with us Wardens. We may need to use those treaties when everything is all said and done, especially if this proves to be a true Blight instead of a mere raid."

"So, retrieve the scrolls and secure the blood," Moira murmured, absently scratching behind Quinn's right ear, much to her dog's delight. "I think we shall be able to do that. Is there a timeframe as to when we should return?"

Duncan shook his head. "Today is already quite old. Don't worry if you need to set up camp for the night, but try to make it back as quickly as possible. We will need all the Wardens we have at our disposal for this upcoming battle." He turned to Alistair. "Keep your charges safe."

"I don't mean to burst anyone's bubble," Daveth piped up. "But doesn't it look like we're in need of a bit of gear? I don't particularly like the idea of wandering out there to fight darkspawn wearin' nothing but the clothes on my back."

"You're right," Alistair said. "We don't have much money on us, but perhaps we can pool our resources and see what we can come up with. Moira, do you happen to have anything that we might trade the Quartermaster for? Perhaps that shield you have on your back. I noticed that you looked a little awkward with it."

Moira reared back, her hand settling on Quinn's neck. "This shield is not for sale," she said firmly, her voice a bit harsher than she had meant for it to be. Taking a breath to compose herself she gave him an apologetic glance. "I meant, yes, I am quite unfamiliar with fighting with a shield. Perhaps you would like to sell your shield and use mine instead?" _Great going, Cousland,_ she admonished herself. _Let's just antagonize the person being charged to keep us all alive out there, shall we?_

"That sounds like a good idea," Alistair agreed after eying her with an odd expression that she was unable to read, taking the shield she offered.

"And this set of armor doesn't quite fit me right," she continued. "If you like, Daveth, you can have it. It moves quite well, especially when trying to maneuver as quietly as possible."

"It does look flexible enough. Good quality too." Daveth reached out and touched the chainmail that was attached to the leather body.

"I have a little money in my bag," Jory supplied. "I hope that it will be enough to buy you another suit of armor to replace the one you've given Daveth." The four of them made their way to the Quartermaster, where with a little bit of creative bartering and selling off of several items that weren't quite as important to carry, Moira was outfitted with a better fitting set of studded armor made out of cured leather as well as a backpack capable of carrying much more than the makeshift bag that she had made out of a burlap sack from her family's larder. Moira gently touched the dried brown stain on the corner of the sack before folding the material and placing it at the bottom of her new bag, kneeling to do the job better.

Quinn whined and nosed her cheek. "You're going to have to stay here for right now, Boy," she said quietly. "There isn't room in our party for a fifth fighter, no matter how much you want to come along. Besides, didn't you see all the sick hounds in the kennel? I would hate for you to get what they had."

Quinn whined again and licked her chin. "I know, I'll be careful. You just stay there by the fire and be a good boy, all right? No chewing on other's things, I mean it." She felt her lip quiver and she gave him a quick hug around his thick neck. "You just stay safe. Besides Fergus, you're all the family I have now." She blinked quickly and stood up, rubbing at her chin with the back of her hand to rid herself of Mabari drool.

"Nice dog," Daveth commented as they walked towards the main gates. "Looks like he's real protective of his mistress."

"He could rip someone in half on my command," she said dryly, noticing the way Daveth's hand was already starting to stray towards her backside. She lengthened her stride to keep out of range. "He's already proven that he can several times over."

She heard him sigh dramatically behind her. "Just my luck, I'm saddled with the pretty Ice Queen. The Maker surely thinks this is hilarious."

They hadn't walked very far when the howl of wolves echoed in the air. Moira drew her sword and dagger, ducking out of the way of Jory's greatsword. She'd never fought with anyone who had wielded such a weapon and she made certain to keep on the far side of the battlefield instead, wading into the middle of the wolf pack and taking on two at a time. She gave a dual weapon sweep, taking out one wolf and finishing off the second with a flurry attack.

"Is anyone hurt?" Alistair asked, cleaning his blade on the grass nearby before sheathing it.

"Not a scratch here," Daveth said, flexing his arm. "This _is_ good quality; I would have gotten my arm bitten off otherwise."

"Markus would have been pleased to hear," Moira said quietly, thinking fondly of the castle's blacksmith. She prayed that he had been able to escape in the confusion. Hopefully Howe's men had only attacked the front portion of the castle; Markus' forge was at the back near the barracks. "I'm all right as well." She had dodged the snapping teeth and jaws of the wolves successfully, her mind going to the Captain of the Guard and how he had often warned her and her brother when they had been children of the dangers that roamed the woods around their home. _He hadn't been exaggerating,_ Moira thought, catching her breath.

"Maker, what is that?" Jory asked, pointing towards the marsh ahead of them. They couldn't see much from where they were standing, but Moira thought that she made out a pair of boots poking out from the tall grass.

Her suspicions were confirmed when they reached the edge of the marsh. "He's dead," Moira said, kneeling on a boggy patch next to the body. She turned him over with Alistair's help, wincing at the way that the brackish water had made the man's face bloat and prune up. An arrow protruded from his chest, the shaft and fletching black.

"Darkspawn," Alistair spat, shaking his head. "He looks to be a missionary – he didn't stand a chance against them."

"His name was Jogby," Moira noted, reading the letter that had crinkled under her hand as she had turned the body. "He was to meet his father here and begin trying to convert the Chasind."

"Does the letter say anything else?"

"There's some directions to a chest full of supplies." Moira bit her lip. "It seems a shame to let those supplies go to waste when we could dearly use them. Do you think that it would be awful to claim them as our own?"

Alistair looked at her thoughtfully. "Well, it isn't like he's going to be using them any time soon. I don't see why we couldn't."

She let out a relieved breath. "I'm glad that you said that. I was afraid that you would think that I was some sort of vulture."

He shook his head. "No, I'm starting to get the impression that you're a resourceful sort of person. We need more people like you around."

"Well, if the two of you are done sitting in the mud, maybe we should get going," Daveth said, plucking the meager little leather pouch off the body with the expertise of a back alley pick pocket. He shook it, measuring the amount of money in the bag by sound alone before stuffing it into his pack.

"And we need _less_ people like him, in my opinion," Alistair muttered under his breath, quietly enough that Daveth couldn't hear him yet loud enough where Moira could.

Moira smirked and shook her head, but then she stopped in her tracks when she turned the bend. "What could have done this?" she wondered, her hand going to cover her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. It looked as if someone had painted the grass and dirt trail beyond in red. Things that Moira would rather not think to describe hung from nearby trees, flies already buzzing around. A cart was overturned near the road, its poor oxen dead in its yoke. Men in various colored armor were littered along the ground and Moira let out a shocked gasp when she recognized those among the dead that were wearing the dark green scale mail of Highever.

A strangled groan caught her attention and she froze in place, watching as one of the bodies wearing her family's armor stirred and began to crawl towards them. "Fergus," she whispered, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest as she watched the dark haired man reach towards her. "_Fergus!_"

"Wait! You don't know what's up ahead!" Alistair tried to warn her, but it was already too late. Moira had gone running down the road, her boots sliding around on the gore that was so saturated in places that the dirt hadn't had a chance to absorb all of the blood yet. She skidded to a halt and knelt beside the injured man, her hands carefully turning him over. She was partially relieved when she realized that the soldier was not her brother, but dismayed when she recognized him.

"Padrick," she said, smoothing his bloodstained hair out of his eyes. "What has happened to you?"

"Darkspawn," Padrick gasped out, his eyes closed tightly in pain. "They came from… under the ground. Our scouting party never stood a chance."

"Was Fergus with you? Have you seen him?" She was already trying to assess the damage he had sustained. While she might have known Padrick on sight, it seemed as if he was too dazed to recognize her voice. He had a gash on his side and looked to have suffered a blow to the head, which was bleeding profusely. She could remember the last time she had seen him; she had been in the training circle practicing her forms and he had been busy at the archery range. Alice, one of the castle maids, had approached her bearing a letter from the Free Marches and news that Rendon Howe had finally arrived with his men. Moira had teased Padrick when she had seen the way that his eyes had followed Alice as the maid had gone back into the castle, his cheeks blazing red at being caught admiring the girl. He was young, one of the newer castle soldiers whom the Captain of the Guard had personally decided to take under his wing once he saw the talent Padrick had possessed with a bow.

Moira let out a breath from between clenched teeth when she took further stock of his injuries. His right arm was mangled and there was a bit of translucent bone protruding close to his elbow. He wouldn't be wielding a bow any time soon. "Fergus?" Padrick asked, finally opening his eyes to look up at her. "My lady, what are you doing here?" he asked weakly. "His Lordship is going to be so angry when he learns that you stole away to join us."

Moira gave a weak laugh and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "It is a very long story," she explained. "I'll tell you everything once we get you back to camp. Can you walk?"

"I think so."

"It doesn't matter; I'll see you back myself." She made quick work of unbuckling one side of his breastplate, but stopped when he made a pained wheeze.

"No, don't go troubling yourself on my account, my lady."

"I have bandages in my pack," Alistair supplied once he caught up to them. He knelt and carefully helped Moira take off Padrick's armor. "This looks bad," he said, gesturing towards the broken arm. "I don't think we can set this properly in the field."

"I shall be all right," Padrick assured them. He gave Moira a weak grin. "It can't be as bad as the time that I fell out of Nan's fruit tree. She blistered my ears something awful, but getting the first apples of the season was worth the broken leg."

"Are you certain that you can make it back?" Moira asked again, tucking the edges of the bandage against his chest. Her fingers tingled from the medicinal paste that Alistair also had with him and she hoped that their first aid attempt would be enough to hold him over until he got back to the infirmary. She could feel heat radiate off of his skin and a quick check also found his forehead hot to the touch. Her eyes went to the bandage; she hadn't seen any red streaks coming from the gash on his side that might indicate blood poisoning and nothing had looked to be infected. Then again, Moira had a very limited knowledge on healing, so she hoped that she was doing everything right.

"I am." He grunted as Moira and Alistair helped him to his feet, his good arm hugging his broken one close to his body. "Our army was split up to scout the area. Fergus was sent with Arl Howe's men further south."

Moira closed her eyes and looked away. "Damn," she cursed. "Thank you, Padrick," she said.

"I know not what you're doing here, but Maker watch over you and his Lordship."

"May He watch over you as well," she answered, watching as he slowly made his way back up the path they had come from.

"Did you hear that?" Jory asked. "An entire scouting party taken out by darkspawn!"

"Well, we're not quite helpless, I think that we can take care of any that we come across."

Jory folded his arms over his chest. "Yes, we might be able to take on several, but what if there's more? How many can you defeat? Ten? Twenty? More?"

"Calm yourself, Ser," Alistair reassured him. "Any large parties of darkspawn have long since quit the area. There may be one or two stragglers left behind, but we're in no danger of running into the bulk of the horde."

"How can you be so sure?"

Alistair touched his chest and looked out to the distance. "Part of becoming a Warden is gaining the ability to sense darkspawn. It's one of the reasons that I'm here with you. So far, I can't detect any that are extremely close to us."

"See? We might be killed horribly, but at least we'll be warned about it first," Daveth said cheerfully. He sidled up to Moira, who was still staring at the path that Padrick had gone. "So, _your Ladyship_, just who is this Fergus fellow? Is he your husband? A lover, perhaps?"

Moira narrowed her eyes. "He is my brother." She wiped her palms on her leggings, ignoring the way that Padrick's blood now stained her knees. "Are we ready to move on?" Her thoughts were swirling in her head and she felt her stomach twist at the thought of her brother amidst a large party of Howe's men. _Andraste, keep him safe,_ she prayed, her hands straying again to her makeshift necklace, her fingers tightening over the signet ring. She walked a little ways ahead, something to the left of the path catching her eye.

"We got off on the wrong foot," Daveth said quietly beside her. He was so silent on his feet that Moira had scarcely heard him approach.

She nodded, her gaze cemented on the grass in front of her. "I apologize. I'm not myself; there has been so much going on in my life recently that I'm still trying to sort out. I should not have been so sharp with you."

Daveth gave a small laugh. "I was meaning that _I_ got off on the wrong foot. It seems that every time I open my mouth that I'm getting a taste of my boot." He fidgeted. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him. "Accepted. Perhaps we could start fresh?"

He grinned. "I'd like that." He pointed at the flower that had caught her attention. "I heard that the kennel master was looking for some of those flowers. I don't know why, but I think that I heard him say something about it being part of an ingredient to cure hounds that had recently gotten sick. There might be a reward involved."

Moira thought back to her own hound as she plucked the flower and placed the bloom in her backpack. "Then we shall gather any of these flowers that we come across."

"Huh, it's funny, but you aren't like any noble that I've run across."

She arched an eyebrow. "Who said anything about me being a noble?"

He rolled his eyes. "Well, it's the refined way that you talk and the fact that you just admitted to being sister to someone with the title of Lord before his first name that's a dead giveaway for one. Then it's the way that you carry yourself for another. That being said, I don't think I've ever come across one of the higher-ups - especially women - that can kick ass and wield a blade like you do."

She shrugged. "My parents were quite unorthodox when it came to raising their children. I for one am infinitely grateful that they allowed me to learn swordplay and run about the castle as I pleased." _Mother and Father's leniency has more than likely saved my life several times over,_ she added silently. "But tell me, if I'm not like any noble that you've seen, where _have_ you seen nobles? Did I hear Alistair correctly when he said that you were from Denerim?"

"I'm not originally from there. My home village is actually a little dot here in the south. One of those blink and you miss it while riding down the road sort of places, it is. I wound up getting out of there as soon as I was able and have made quite a tidy living in Denerim, thanks to my noble contributors."

"So you're a cutpurse, aren't you? I thought that I detected that bit of talent."

"Hey, don't knock it if you haven't tried it. Liberating the wealthy from a little pocket change in order to eat never did me wrong. In fact, I wouldn't even be here today had I not gotten caught trying to lift Duncan's wallet. The authorities were ready to hang me, but Duncan wound up using the Right of Conscription to get me to join the ranks of the Wardens." He shrugged again. "In all honesty, I think this might be the start of turning over a new leaf. I mean, we can't have the Grey Wardens' reputation tarnished by having a street thief in their ranks, now can we?"

She smiled at him. "No, I guess we can't."

"Now, come on; we're wasting daylight standing here talking about myself. I'm sure there'll be plenty of time to get to know the other later on once we're done with all this."

"You're right. I guess we ought to watch the other's backs, don't you think?"

He chortled, his voice deepening as he looked down her body ever so slowly. "Oh, I'll be watching yours, no doubt about it."

She shook her head and walked ahead of him. "I wasn't kidding about Quinn being able to tear a man in half, you know," she warned breezily without looking behind her shoulder. "It doesn't hurt that he's already decided not to like you on principle."

His voice sounded amused. "That's part of the thrill, my lady."

Alistair rolled his eyes and walked past Daveth. "If you're quite finished getting shot down by your fellow recruit," he said, his tone teasing. "Then…" He stopped in mid-sentence and stood stock still, his entire body tense and alert.

"What is it?" Jory asked, standing beside him.

Alistair unsheathed his sword. "Darkspawn, right ahead of us on that hill. I can feel about four of them, perhaps a little more." He had barely said that when an arrow whizzed over his head and imbedded itself in the tree trunk behind him.

"Archers!" Moira yelled, crouching behind a fallen piece of a nearby wall. She eyed the discarded bow next to her and wished that she actually knew how to properly use the weapon. Daveth rolled next to her, yanking the arrow out of the tree and fitting it against Padrick's bow that he had scooped up.

"Thank goodness one of us is a long distance fighter," Alistair muttered, watching as the darkspawn arrow flew true and landed in the center of the creature's forehead.

"_Those_ are darkspawn?" Daveth asked, his eyes wide.

"I'm afraid so. Don't worry about their appearance, just concentrate on the fact that you're able to kill them just as well as they're able to kill you."

Even with that reassurance, Moira was chilled to the bone when she got her first clear view of a hurlock from up close. It was the size of a man and had let out an inhuman howl when her blade sank through its chest. She didn't give her mind any time to recoil out of disgust and fear and simply moved on to the next attacker. Jory swung his blade in a wide arc, catching several on the return path. Daveth had found a discarded quiver of arrows and was lobbing as many projectiles as he could in their direction, making sure to aim in a manner that wouldn't put his companions in the crossfire. Alistair had run ahead and was attempting to draw the majority of the enemy's attention, which left Moira wide open to sneak behind and stab genlocks in the back. She grimaced at the way that the black blood stained her family's blade, quickly wiping the sword clean on the grass before putting it back in the sheath situated on her back.

"Disgusting creatures," Jory muttered, trying not to gag as he capped the lid to his vial.

"Yet disgusting creatures who happen to carry bits of silver coins on their persons," Moira said, crouching near one of the fallen Hurlocks. Now that it was dead, she had a chance to study its face, to stare until she was certain that she could look upon the next live one and not feel as if she were going to be attacked by fear.

"And that was your formal introduction to the creatures known as darkspawn," Alistair said cheerfully. "Shall we move on?"

"Was it just me, or did one of them act as a mage would?" Moira asked, walking alongside Alistair.

He nodded. "Yes, that was an emissary. They're quite dangerous, far more than your regular run of the mill genlock or hurlock. If we come across any others, make certain to take them out first. They know a variety of spells that can disable you and allow their normal brethren a chance at taking you on while you're defenseless."

Moira tucked that piece of information away. "I noticed that you did something that drained its mana. I didn't know that you were a Templar."

"Former Templar," Alistair corrected. "Actually, I never officially took my vows; Duncan recruited me out of the Chantry while I was still a Templar in training. The Revered Mother was most displeased, but I think that it was for the best."

"You disliked being a Templar?"

"Not disliked so much as I never felt as if that was my life's calling. Being a Warden has been a satisfying experience, far more than an entire lifetime spent in the Chantry has."

"How long have you been a Warden, if I might ask?"

"Only six months." He looked at her from out of the corner of his eye. "Tell me, what do you think of Duncan?"

Moira thought her words over carefully. "He seems to be a fair man," she said. "Truthfully, I've only known him for two weeks. My first impression of him was that he was the sort of man who stood by quietly and watched what was going around him before jumping into things. He doesn't speak very much, does he?"

Alistair grinned. "No, he doesn't. Truthfully, I think that he's grateful that he's recruited so many others; my prattling on must have gotten on his nerves." He pushed aside a tree branch that was in his way. "How did he recruit you? He failed to mention the particulars in his letter."

Moira's stride stalled out and she bit her lip. "He asked my father," she settled on. She shivered, remembering those last moments in the larder.

"_Duncan, I beg you. Take my wife and daughter to safety."_

"_I will. In return, I will need something from you."_

"_Anything."_

"_I came to Highever seeking a recruit."_

"_I understand."_

"He has been very kind to me," she said, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill her memories had brought up. "I can tell that you hold him in high regard."

"The highest," Alistair agreed. "In some ways, you could say that he saved my life."

"I know exactly what you mean," she murmured. She frowned, looking at the patch of herbs that was growing a little ways off the path. "That is Deathroot," she pointed out, kneeling down and pulling out a small paring knife from her pack. She had taken the knife from Nan's kitchens on impulse as they had fled and now she was glad that she had – Deathroot wasn't highly toxic on its own in small quantities, but it could cause a nasty rash and itch like crazy should someone get nicked with a blade that still had a bit of sap on it. Moira's dagger would have sufficed to harvest a bit of the plant, but Nan's knife would serve nicely for that specific purpose. "We might have need of some later on."

"You have a knowledge of poisons?"

"Not much, but I do know some. I don't know anything too complicated, just the basics." Oriana had taught her all that she knew when it became apparent that Moira had taken an interest in learning that went beyond a polite urge to get to know her brother's wife better. Oriana was the first to admit that she knew very little – her father had been one of the middle to upper class noblemen from Antiva and as such, he had believed that ladies only needed to learn what was necessary to survive should the need come to poisoning their adversaries, not have a broad knowledge of poisons that they might make a living off of.

Alistair watched as Moira carefully harvested a few leaves and a bit of the root, wiping the small knife in her hand off on the grass before tucking her prizes inside her pack. He listened as she muttered something about finding pressing paper for the leaves and a bag to carry roots in later on. "I'm starting to see what Duncan saw in you," he told her. "Daveth was right; you aren't like any noblewoman that I've met."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, standing up. "Now, about this letter. Are we going to try to follow the instructions to get to this hidden chest?"

Alistair scanned the horizon. "That over there might be our clue to pass under the tree bridge," he said, pointing at the roots that were sticking up in the air. An enormous tree had fallen some time ago, the grass on the hill partially growing up around it and it did seem to make a bridge that they could cross underneath. "Poor slobs," Alistair said quietly, looking up at the men hanging from the tree. "This is just…_excessive_."

"Don't look now, but there's more of them," Daveth warned, notching an arrow and letting it fly.

"Take out the hurlocks first!" Alistair cried, bashing a shorter genlock in the face with his shield. "They're stronger than the others but they go down a lot faster!"

Moira grunted when a hurlock rammed her in the shoulder, making her drop her dagger. She ducked underneath its sword, her free hand grabbing a fistful of loose dirt. She threw it into its eyes, temporarily blinding it. It was a dirty fighting trick, but it worked; Moira used the brief distraction as a chance to round behind the darkspawn and arc her sword in a two handed chop, sending the hurlock's head rolling to the ground. She recovered her fallen dagger in time to use it to block an arrow that came from the next hill. "Daveth, to your right!" she yelled. The others might be too far away to do something about the threat, but at least one of their party could cause some damage from where they were.

"On it!"

"They just don't let up," Jory said as they all heard the howl of a wolf from nearby.

"And there she goes, running into the thick of things again," Alistair added, running after Moira, who was already stabbing the darkspawn who was getting attacked by wolves. The weakened hurlock wasn't much of a threat and Alistair caught up with her just in time to help her fight the two wolves that had turned away from their prey once they were aware that it wasn't fighting back any longer. "You're making this quite the habit," he commented, stabbing one of the wolves in the mouth, his sword going through the tender portion underneath the jaw and into the brain cavity.

"You're not the fan of the direct approach, I assume."

"No, quite the opposite." He turned and blocked the mace from a genlock who managed to sneak up on them. "I'm just used to being the one running into danger first is all. It's kind of refreshing to be the cautious one for once."

Moira slashed at the wolf with both of her blades, sending it spinning and landing in a heap a little ways away. "I have a bad feeling that this was Jogby's father," she said quietly, looking down at the body of a man dressed very much like the missionary they had come across in the bog. She whispered a few words to excuse herself from rifling through his pockets before coming up with another sheaf of paper. "At least he was well prepared." She handed the paper to Alistair, who scanned the contents with a grave expression on his face.

"What is it?" Jory asked, limping up to them. Blood seeped from the armor covering his calf and it looked as if he was in a great deal of pain.

"It seems that Rigby – that was the man's name, it appears – knew that his chances of survival were quite dismal. He hid all his valuables in his camp to the west and requested that whoever finds this letter go retrieve them and give them to his wife Jetta in Redcliffe."

"Would we have any business in Redcliffe once this battle is over?" Moira asked.

"I think so. We would have to get with Duncan first."

She went over to Jory and helped ease him down against the crumbling stone wall nearby. "You need to get off that leg," she said softly. "We could at least attempt to find this camp while we're out here. His final request doesn't really call for any effort on our part; at the very least it will give some poor woman some sort of comfort knowing that her husband is gone instead of wondering for years what his fate might have been."

"You're right," Alistair said. "And we _are_ in the area. We don't exactly know where this outpost is anymore; it's been so long since the Wardens have occupied this portion of Ferelden that much of our history has been lost. It just might turn out that Rigby had been camping in the very place that we're searching for."

"There seems to be something nice here," Daveth commented, kneeling in front of a locked chest. He took the padlock in his hand and tugged experimentally. "Little bugger won't unlock though."

"Try a smaller pick," Moira suggested, handing Alistair the roll of bandages as he looked after Jory's leg. "And use a steady hand – there are times when tumblers in locks like that don't respond well to anything but the most delicate of touches."

"And here you were wrinkling your nose up at me being a pickpocket. Seems to me as if the pot was calling the kettle black."

"I wasn't wrinkling my nose; I was just making an observation."

"Ah, there's nothing useful here, just a few measly coins and some old poultices." Daveth sniffed at one of them before dropping it back into the chest. "Sorry, but they're too dried up to help out here."

"It's getting dark," Alistair commented, looking up at the sky. The sun was starting to set behind a tall ruin. "It wouldn't be safe to wander around once night falls; we ought to set up camp here. It'll also give your leg some time to heal." He stood up and dusted off his hands. "Moira, Jory, I want you two to set up camp while Daveth and I go collect some firewood and dispose of the corpses."

"Stay where you're at," Moira said once she saw that Jory was about to attempt to get up and help her. "There isn't much to set up and Alistair was right, you need to stay off that leg as much as you can."

"I feel so stupid," he confessed. "I should have been able to dodge that attack." He pulled his satchel off his shoulders and took out a blanket that he spread out beside him.

"It was an accident, they happen. At least you weren't hurt too seriously." Moira dug through Alistair and Daveth's packs and came out with one blanket apiece. Alistair also had a cloak tightly bundled up that she brought out but did not unfold. Task complete, Moira sat with her knees up to her chest and watched as the sunset turned the sky indigo. She hugged her knees tightly and pulled out her father's ring, her fingers running over the raised portion bearing her family's crest.

"Alistair said that you were from Highever," Jory prompted.

"I am."

"My Helena is from there. I met her when Arl Eamon had been visiting with Teyrn Cousland. Helena's family owns a small shop that specializes in beeswax candles. They also make soaps, the likes of which I've never seen before." His eyes went soft and he draped his arm over his upturned knee. "They make the skin so very soft to the touch."

"I know the shop that you're talking about," Moira said. "They're right next to the weaver's stall." It seemed a lifetime ago that she had visited that very shop with her mother, the both of them inquiring about the health of the people inside. The seasonal colds had hit early this year and the owner's wife had been ill for a while. They had been so grateful that the Teyrna and her daughter had been thoughtful enough to pay them a visit that they insisted on sending them back to the castle with a large basket full of soaps of their choice. Moira's mother had been fond of the rose and sandalwood scented blend, but Moira had chosen blocks of lavender soap. Ever since she had been a girl, lavender had been one of her favorite scents that never failed to soothe her senses and comfort her. As she grew older, she had favored oils and perfumes infused with the scent as her signature fragrance.

_I think of you often. I had to stop myself from purchasing a vial of perfume the other day based on the fact that it was similar to what I remember you wearing._

Nathaniel's words from his last letter came to mind and Moira rested her cheek against her knees. How could it be that she wanted nothing more than to have him there with her right now when she had resolved to kill his father to avenge her own parents?

"That's the one." Jory smiled. "I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Arl Eamon was generous enough to accept my request to be transferred into the Teyrn's army so that Helena would be able to stay close to her parents and help out with their business. We're expecting our first child soon; I'm hoping that I'll be able to return to her side in time to be there whenever she's due."

"She looked as if she was progressing quite well the last time I was there. Her mother had a touch of a cold, but everyone else was healthy. She mentioned that her husband – and now I can see that she meant you – was away."

"I miss her dearly. Is she not the most beautiful creature you've ever seen? Her smile is enough to light up an entire room."

"She is quite pretty, yes."

"I'm not that familiar with Highever; have you lived there long?"

Moira nodded. "I've lived there all my life. There are few places that can compare to the beauty surrounding the lands."

"The castle overlooking the town is exceptionally lovely."

Moira felt her throat tighten. "Yes, it is." She was hit with a pang of homesickness and she had to look away. "I miss it very much."

"Did you know the Teyrn? I only spoke with him the one time, but he seemed to be a great man."

"That he was."

"Was? Has something happened recently?" His voice rose in volume, concern clouding his words.

"Arl Rendon Howe attacked the castle not two weeks ago, killing everyone in sight." She cursed herself for making him worry when she saw the distressed look on his face. "Don't worry; he needs the people of Highever if he wishes to rule the land," she said, an awful taste in her mouth at the very idea of the man that her family had once called friend sitting in her father's favorite chair or ruling from his throne in the Great Hall. "He would be a great fool indeed to usurp the title and then squander the very backbone that holds the teyrnir together."

"How close were you to the fighting? Are you certain that the town was unharmed?"

"Duncan and I fled the castle and sought refuge in the city for a brief while. The Arl's men were nowhere to be seen. Had they intended on attacking Highever proper, they would have done so instead of merely striking against the castle." She stared at the signet ring. "Rendon Howe will die by my hand for what he has done."

Jory put two and two together. "Forgive me," he said quickly. "I should have caught on when the soldier we came across called you his Ladyship. You are Teyrn Cousland's daughter, are you not?"

"I was." She ran her fingers over the smooth metal of her mother's wedding band. "I don't know who I am now."

"I might have only met him the one time, but your father was a good man. Everyone that I knew spoke highly of him; he was well loved by his people. I am sorry to hear about his death."

"Thank you." She tucked her keepsakes under her armor when she heard the deliberate sound of boots snapping against fallen twigs.

"We found a bit of wood, at least enough to keep us warm for the evening if we're careful," Alistair said, dropping the stack of deadfall in the center of the overgrown stone floor, carefully avoiding the dried bloodstain where Missionary Rigby had lain.

"Too bad we didn't find any food," Daveth complained, stretching. He scratched at his neck and let out a mighty yawn. "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty tired out."

"We should probably take watches in groups. I'll sit up first," Alistair suggested.

"I'll join you," Moira offered, watching as Alistair struck flint and coaxed the small pile of tinder he had collected to burn before adding it to the initial pile of firewood.

The woods were silent save for the usual evening noises of birds and crickets chirping beyond the circle of light that their campfire let off. Jory had fallen asleep almost immediately while Daveth had, despite his previous complaints of being tired, tossed and turned before falling into a fitful sleep.

"I caught the last bit of your conversation with Jory," Alistair said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Moira looked up from where she was sharpening her dagger on a borrowed whetstone. "What part?"

"The part where you said that you were the last of the Cousland line."

She shook her head. "I'm not the last of our family. My brother is somewhere out here." She set the stone aside and looked up at the night sky. "I still don't know how I'm going to break the news to him. He'll want to go after Howe and seek blood rights, I'm sure of it."

Now that he knew the gist of her recent past, the lost look that he had seen when he had first met her made sense. He knew that if he had just escaped the only home that he had known after seeing those that he loved die before his eyes that he would have worn the same sort of expression. "I know that you haven't known me for very long," he began, standing up to poke at the fire and add another handful of sticks to it. While he was up, he plucked the rolled up cloak from the ground and shook it out. "But if you ever need a sounding board, I'm here." He saw how she shivered in the evening chill and gently draped the cloak over her shoulders.

Moira looked up at him. "Thank you," she said, holding the fabric together with her hands. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think that I'm ready to talk just yet. Everything is so different that I'm still trying to come to terms with it all. It doesn't seem real; none of this does. I keep on thinking that I'll wake up in my bed, all of this being some sort of horrible nightmare."

"All the same, whenever you are ready to talk, I'll be here." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I might not look it, but I'm an excellent listener."

"Thank you," she repeated. "I just might take you up on your offer." They spent the rest of their watch in silence. After an agreed upon amount of time, Moira went to wake Daveth to take her place, falling asleep almost as soon as she settled down on the ground. The last thing that she was aware of before sleep took her was that Alistair had neglected to wake Jory, taking the injured man's turn on watch as well as his own.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: paraphrasing a bit of in-game dialogue here towards the end.

* * *

The morning dawned cold and foggy. Moira rubbed the last remnants of sleep from her eyes and rose. Alistair had a small map rolled out over his knee and he, Jory and Daveth were leaning over it trying to decide where they should head to next. After a quick breakfast of biscuits and dried fruit, It was agreed upon that they should venture out to the west and attempt to find Rigby's possessions before continuing on their way to find the Warden outpost. They came across a few pockets of darkspawn on their trek there, and it seemed as if they were intelligent enough to form an ambush along a choke point in the path. Daveth provided cover fire with his bow while Alistair and Jory plowed through the thick of them. Moira had found a small path leading upward to where the darkspawn archers had situated themselves, so while her two heavier armed companions drew their enemy's attention, she quickly climbed up and took her target by surprise. Unfortunately, their battle drew the attention of the darkspawn that had been investigating Rigby's former campsite and the four of them had to quickly regroup and focus their attack on the approaching mob.

"At least these seem to have lousy aim," Daveth muttered, quickly bending to pick up arrows to supplement his own quiver. Jory only grunted his agreement, staying behind to defend their archer from any rogue darkspawn.

Moira didn't have much air left in her lungs to waste talking, but she did notice how Alistair was putting himself in the lead role. He was good with his shield, using it defensively to block attacks as well as offensively to bash his enemies in the head, but Moira absently noted that his footwork needed some improvement. The insight made her chest squeeze painfully tight as she thought of Rory and all of the times that he had instructed her to move her own feet during practice. Pushing aside the grim way he had looked at her that last time in the Great Hall, she thought instead of the years spent training side by side. The practice had finally served a practical use: Moira eased into a familiar stance and felt comfortable fighting alongside someone using the same techniques that Ser Gilmore had often applied himself. _I never thought that I would be using the things he taught me in an actual battle,_ she thought, using her boot to push against a hurlock's chest for leverage to pull her sword out from where it had gotten tangled in the creature's armor. She might have been teasingly labeled an unholy terror in the practice ring by her father's guards, but the closest that she had gotten to actually killing anything before two weeks ago had been ripping the stuffing out of the garrison's training dummies. She blocked a sword attack with her own blades, the shock of metal hitting metal making her arms shake. Since fleeing her family's home, she had killed many people in order to stay alive. Granted they had been Howe soldiers attacking her, but she was still uneasy with taking the life of anything, even monsters such as these.

She had a feeling that killing was going to become a near everyday occurrence from now on. If she was to survive, she would have to get used to it.

"Is this the outpost that we've been looking for?" she asked after the battle, hissing in pain as she flexed her arm. She had wrenched her shoulder pretty badly, but luckily all that the injury had needed was a quick drink of a healing draught she had in her bag to cure it.

"No. The outpost that we're looking for should have been bigger than this," Alistair said, looking around. "The ruins around here haven't fared well, but Duncan said that it had once been a great tower of stone. Surely there is more left of it than this."

"The good news is that we've recovered the vials of blood that Duncan wanted us to gather," she said optimistically, capping her vial and placing it in her pack. "I'm certain that this pocket of darkspawn won't be the last that we'll run into here."

"You're right," Alistair said, shading his eyes with the flat of his hand as he surveyed the horizon. "I feel a reasonably high concentration of them further to the east."

"How high?"

"Nothing huge; it's not the horde that we'll be fighting in the upcoming battle, more like a small scouting party."

She furrowed her brow. "What does sensing darkspawn feel like anyway? Is it the same for all Wardens?"

Alistair nodded. "It's difficult to explain unless you've felt it yourself. The best that I can describe it is to imagine that you have a rope tied around your chest. Normally you don't feel it around you, but when darkspawn approach, they take the loose end of the rope and tug on it. Depending on the number present, that tug can be faint or it can feel as if someone is putting all their weight into pulling you towards them. I'll admit; it isn't the most pleasant of sensations, but at least you'll never be caught unaware."

They both seemed to look at the fire pit at the same time. "Something doesn't look right here," Alistair mused, kneeling down to inspect the wood. His fingers brushed the ashes away and the two of them quickly uncovered the corner of something rectangular shaped.

"One lockbox, hidden where many wouldn't think to look," Moira said, helping Alistair pull the box out of its hiding space. It wasn't heavy, but it did take up a bit of space in Moira's pack. "At least we can give this to his wife."

"Not the least bit tempted to see what's inside?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "You know what they said about curiosity and cats. Besides, what's in there isn't for us."

"Hello," Daveth drawled, pulling out a battered looking journal from a nearby bush. The cover and several of the first pages were ripped, as if the darkspawn who had discovered the find before them had flung it to the side once they realized it didn't have any use. "What do we have here?" He flipped through the pages, his lips pursed as he tried to decipher the thin, spidery script. "The Wilds are full of treasure chests. Rigby has several entries about how the Chasind used certain landmarks to mark out a trail to a weapons cache. It could be worth looking into."

Following the Chasind trail was easy once they all knew what to look for. It was eerie; they hadn't run across any more darkspawn, but they hadn't run across anything else, be it man or wildlife either. The silence that surrounded them was only broken by the sound of their armor jingling as they walked. The air was thick with the feeling of unease, and everyone admitted to feeling a sense of dread, almost as if they were waiting for something to strike and break the bubble of stillness that had fallen over their party.

"Wait," Moira finally said after they had reached an area that they hadn't come across before. There was a bridge ahead, but something was not right. She put an arm out to stop Alistair from taking another step. "There are traps in the area."

"And darkspawn, who probably set those traps." Alistair drew his weapon and shaded his eyes with his free hand. "Damn, and there's another emissary. Leave that one to me and take out any of the others that are bound to be with it." The emissary noticed them, letting out an inhuman roar as it lobbed a green blob of magical energy towards them. Alistair clapped his hands together and while Moira didn't see anything, whatever Templar training that he possessed caused the blob to dissipate before it even reached them, his powers creating a breeze that blew Moira's hair back away from her face. Not wasting any time, she ran ahead of them and knelt at the bridge where she had thought she had seen the outline of a spring trap. It was crudely fashioned, but the teeth attached to it were wickedly sharp and would have done great damage to someone's leg should they have gotten their foot stuck in it. She grabbed a handful of rocks nearby and threw them ahead of her, listening as two more traps were triggered.

"To your right!" Daveth yelled, firing an arrow over Moira's shoulder. A genlock growled as it jumped towards her and Moira only had bare seconds to raise her dagger up to block its attack. It didn't have any manmade weapons, but rather came at her with its teeth and jagged claws. She shifted the grip on her dagger and plunged it into the creature's eye, twisting and trying not to gag at the feel of metal scraping against bone. Before she even had a chance to move away from the body, another genlock seemed to come up out of nowhere.

"Try to use stealth on me," Moira panted, gritting her teeth. Her boot came up and hit the genlock below the belt. She had a brief thought towards Fergus, who had taught her that move himself when they had been younger but then later on regretted it when they sparred because it never failed that she would try to use the unsportsmanlike maneuver on him. Thus incapacitated, the genlock offered very little resistance when she shoved it backwards straight into the teeth of yet another spring trap. It howled in pain, but was quickly silenced when Moira swung her sword down and decapitated it.

"Tricky little monsters," Daveth commented, pulling arrows out of dead bodies and picking others off the path.

"Agreed," Moira said, crouching down and collecting a handful of copper pieces from a hurlock. She frowned when she rolled a darkspawn over and uncovered the body of a fallen soldier. "What's this?" she wondered, prying the young man's fingers off of the leather pouch he had died holding. A quick glance inside the pouch showed that there wasn't anything in it except for what looked to be ashes from a fire. A cursory look through the soldier's meager belongings brought up a tattered piece of parchment bearing an entry about a spirit encased in these very parts that was supposed to be freed when someone sprinkled a pinch of ashes over the area it had been imprisoned in.

"Do you want to give it a try?" Alistair asked, holding one of his gauntlets underneath his arm as he wiped at his brow with his bare hand.

Moira looked up at him from where she was kneeling near the man's body. "Do you really think that it'll work?"

"There's only one way to find out. That area up ahead looks like it matches the description well."

Jory rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Do you really want to risk waking a ghost? And what of this Chasind cache that we were looking for before we had gotten attacked? Don't you think that we should complete that quest before starting up another one?"

"He's right," Daveth said. "I have a feeling that we're probably not that far away from the end of the trail; why don't we see if we can find all these goods that we've been promised first." Alistair looked at Moira, who shrugged back. They backtracked a little ways away to where they had been before the battle, finding yet another trail marker. It was pointing in the direction that the battle had happened and Jory pointed out a little copse of trees that looked suspicious. Sure enough, with a little bit of investigating, the trunk of one tree was found to be hollow and it contained a small sized chest. Unfortunately, the contents were more suited for either a mage or someone that was trained to use hefty two handed weapons. Jory hadn't wanted to exchange his greatsword for the one that was in the trunk, but they brought all the items with them, thinking that they would trade them in to the Quartermaster in return for either money or other items of equal worth.

That side quest completed, they returned to the ruin that Alistair had pointed out. Moira felt a chill go down her spine and her bare arms were quickly covered in gooseflesh the moment she stepped close enough to inspect a pile of rubble. Taking out the dead soldier's leather sack of ashes, she scattered a single pinch over the area.

The effects were immediate. Instead of a spirit, the four of them were faced with an ash wraith named Gazarath who was not all that pleased with being woken up. It was a rough battle, but Moira's party came through victorious. For their efforts, they were rewarded with a pair of Enchanter's Footing boots. Unfortunately no one could wear them because they were, as the name implied, made solely for mages. "There's an awful lot of gear around for mages," Alistair commented, stuffing the boots in his pack. "Keep an eye out; the Chasind folk are said to harbor apostates fleeing from the Circle. While I don't think that they would attack outright, it never hurts to remember that there are other things in these Wilds besides darkspawn."

"It doesn't seem that way, does it?" Daveth sarcastically asked a little while later then they came across the scouting party that Alistair had sensed earlier. They were harder to defeat – many of them were wearing heavier armor and there seemed to be a leader among them. Alistair had taken it upon himself to draw its attention away from everyone else, but Moira was quick to fight beside him. Between the two of them, they managed to bring it down before moving on to another target.

"I dearly hope that _this_ is the outpost that we're looking for," Moira said, holding onto her arm as blood seeped between her fingers.

"It most certainly is," Alistair replied, winding a bandage around her bicep. "Maker, I hope that this wasn't poisoned," he mumbled.

"I don't think it was," she replied, trying to see if she felt any symptoms that might suggest otherwise. The cut had merely been a glancing blow; she had moved away before the darkspawn who had attacked her had an opportunity to do anything more serious. It was shallow, but besides the bleeding and stinging hurt, it didn't seem to be anything to raise any sort of concern over.

"Good. I'd hate to have to drag you back to camp otherwise." He looked up from his bandaging and gave her a respectful, if not curious glance. "You fight well, for a girl."

She smirked. "Didn't I tell you to not think of me as a girl?"

He chuckled. "It's somewhat hard to do so, my lady. You'd be the prettiest man in our group otherwise." It was an awkward joke, and Alistair's cheeks colored slightly as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "Anyway," he continued, clearing his throat. "I wanted to say that it looks as if we make a good team."

She had thought the same. He fought in nearly the same style that she was used to fighting with and she had instantly felt comfortable trusting him to watch her back even as she watched his. "I trained with someone that fought much like you did. Rory…" she looked away. "He didn't make it out of the castle."

"I'm sorry."

"I am too. Before the attack, I had tried to convince Duncan to recruit him instead. He was the best knight in my father's army and probably the best knight that we had to offer in all of Highever." She looked away. "He was my dearest friend. I loved him as if he had been a brother." She blinked several times before wiping her hands on her knees. "Talking like this isn't going to get us to those treaties or back to Duncan any sooner. Come on, we're just about there."

The four of them cautiously entered the ruins of the outpost. Moira thought that it felt strangely peaceful once they were inside the ruin. She carefully picked her way through the debris until she found what looked to be a broken chest, calling the others to her.

"This doesn't make sense," Alistair said, putting aside the broken fragments and frowning once they discovered that the chest was empty. "It's almost as if…"

"Well, well. What have we here?" The voice from a floor above made all four of them quickly pivot around, their hands on their weapons. A woman began to slowly descend the crumbling stairs, her step graceful and sure. She was dressed in a strange assortment of leather and feathers, her face painted with cosmetics that leant an exotic look to her features. "Are you a vulture, I wonder? I have long since watched your progress through these Wilds of mine. Who are they, I wondered, what do they seek?"

"We are Grey Wardens, here to reclaim property that belongs to our order," Moira told her, straightening up to her full height. This woman was the first person that they had seen so deep in the Wilds that was still alive, which told Moira that she was either incredibly resourceful or so powerful that the darkspawn hadn't thought to trifle with her. Either way, she felt it was in their best interest if they treated her with the utmost courtesy.

"She looks to be Chasind," Alistair said a little too loudly, moving to stand partially in front of Moira on reflex. "Where there's one there is sure to be more."

The woman laughed. "What is the matter? Afraid that barbarians will come swoop down upon you?" She threw her arms in the air for emphasis.

"Yes," Alistair drawled. "Swooping is…_bad_."

"She's the Witch of the Wilds, she is," Daveth whispered, looking afraid. "She'll turn us all into toads!"

The woman crossed her arms over her chest. "Witch of the Wilds. Such idle fancies." She eyed Moira. "You there. Women do not frighten as little boys do. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Moira moved out from behind Alistair and took a few steps towards the woman. "My name is Moira. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Now there is a proper civil greeting. You may call me Morrigan." Morrigan looked down at the ruined chest. "As for that chest, what it once contained is no longer there."

"I knew it!" Alistair cried. "You stole those documents, you sneaky….witch thief!"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Call me names if you wish, but it will do nothing to retrieve that which you are seeking. And for your information, 'Twas not I who took them out of there."

"Could you tell us who did take them out then?" Moira asked.

"It was my mother who did."

"Would it be possible for us to meet your mother, Morrigan?"

The woman gave Moira an odd look. "That is a reasonable request. You seem to be the most level headed one in your little group; I like you."

Alistair snorted. "Sure, now she's all _I like you._ Just you wait; you make one move that she doesn't approve of and _zap_, Frog Time."

Daveth winced at that. "She'll put us in a pot, she will," he said. He stepped behind Jory to put himself out of the direct line of Morrigan's sight, almost as if he wasn't aware that he was doing so.

Jory tisked and looked over his shoulder. "Well it would be a welcome change if the pot's warmer than the weather is now. I say that we go with her."

"Very well," Morrigan told them. "My mother's home is this way. Do try to keep up."


	3. Chapter 3

"That was…_interesting_," Alistair said once they reached Ostagar's gates.

"Interesting in what way? That we found someone who was helpful or that neither of them turned us all into toads for their dinner?"

He gave her a wry smirk. "Both. On a more serious note, why do you think that Morrigan's mother would have kept the treaties safe all these years?"

Moira shrugged. "She seemed to understand that they were important, if not to the Wardens, then at least to someone." Moira was more concerned with the odd way that Morrigan's mother had looked at her, almost as if she were trying to confirm something. _Yes, I think you will do_. She didn't know what the old woman meant by that, but it had left her on edge.

"Whatever the reason, I think Duncan should be made aware of their whereabouts." Alistair shrugged. "I know that this upcoming battle is serious and that we don't have any quarrel with them, but…"

"You can take a Templar out of the Chantry, but you can't take the Chantry out of the Templar?"

"_Almost_ Templar, remember? But yes, I guess you could say that. But even if you took out my previous training from the mix, there's something not quite _right_ about those two, you know?"

"I agree. Then again, if you were to live in the middle of nowhere with only one other person as company, I'm sure that if someone were to stumble upon you that they would think that you weren't quite right as well."

"And that's why I would have created an expansive civilization made out of nothing but knitted sock puppets so that I _wouldn't_ have just one person to talk to. They would all bow and call me king."

Moira smiled and let out a laugh at the mental image he presented. The sound surprised Alistair because in the short while that he had known her, he had yet to truly hear her laugh or see anything past the tiniest ghost of a smile flit across her lips. Moira's laughter surprised herself as well – she thought that it sounded rusty and unused and so unfamiliar to what she was used to hearing. "You should do that more often," Alistair noted. "I know you said that you didn't want to be considered much of a girl, but if you don't mind me saying it, you do look quite pretty when you smile."

_Why don't you smile more often, Nate? You're rather handsome when you do._

_Oh? So you think I'm ugly when I don't?_

_You know what I mean, Nathaniel Howe. See? Now was that so difficult?_

_No, it wasn't. Truthfully, I like seeing you smile more, my love. You do it enough for the both of us._

"Thank you," she said quietly, drawing back from her memories. "We really should get back to Duncan."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Right."

Duncan welcomed them as they returned to the bonfire. Daveth and Jory busily warmed themselves by the tall blaze while Moira knelt and vigorously rubbed the sides of Quinn's face. "Did you miss me, Boy?" she asked, turning her head when Quinn tried to lick her cheek. "Come on; I have a few flowers that I think some of those dogs in the kennel will appreciate." Quinn walked close beside her as they reached the kennel master and Moira handed over the white and red blossoms, much to his delight. He claimed that they were an important ingredient in curing illnesses the dogs were suffering due to swallowing tainted blood. The man offered to give Moira a reward for finding the flowers, but she waved him off, claiming that seeing the animals well was reward enough for her. Quinn gave a loud bark of approval, his tail wagging.

"We are ready for the Joining," Duncan said once she returned. Alistair had also come back from visiting the Quartermaster, his satchel where they had stored the gear they had found in the Wilds seemingly empty and the money pouch tied to his belt significantly heavier. "I will warn you; this ritual that we undergo is quite dangerous and becoming a Warden is something not to be taken lightly. There is a price to be had in order to join us and I fear that some of you might pay that price earlier than others." He stared at Moira first, the look in his eyes one that made her feel as if she was being judged.

"I'm not afraid," she said, even if anxiety was starting to build. She just hoped that no one would be able to tell. "We've come this far; it would be a shame to stop now." Besides, she didn't have anywhere to go any longer. While killing Rendon Howe to avenge her family was her ultimate goal, she knew that she didn't have any means by which to do so at the moment. King Cailan had given her his word that Arl Howe would pay for his crimes, but she was afraid that whatever punishment the king would set for his vassal would be far too easy to find a loophole to slip through. Nothing would satisfy her besides his death, preferably by her own hand or by her brother's. She might be deposed, but until she found Fergus, she was _still_ the acting Teyrna of Highever. She knew the laws of Ferelden well enough to hold her own and she knew that her father had many allies upon which she could fall back on should she need to.

"She's right," Daveth agreed. "I'm not afraid of what happens next." Jory didn't say anything, but he crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded.

Duncan looked over at Alistair. "Take them to the old temple, Alistair," he said. "I will be there shortly once the mages have mixed the potion for the ritual."

"At once."

"You know, the more that I hear about this Joining, the less I like it," Jory said once they had reached the area Duncan had spoken about. Alistair had led them there, but then he had quickly excused himself, saying that he was going to check on Duncan to see if he could be of any use to his senior Warden. "We've all tried to ask questions since we were sent out into the Wilds, but everyone has been very closemouthed about the whole process."

"I don't like it either," Moira admitted, watching as the taller man began to pace. "But what are we supposed to do about it? Everything will be revealed in due time. Neither Duncan nor Alistair seem the type of people to lead us astray."

"What I'm still wondering about is what this price that we're supposed to pay is exactly," Daveth chimed in, leaning against a wall. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess that any sort of hardship is worth it, seeing what we're going to be doing."

Moira thought about what Ser Gilmore had said hours before that awful night. _I'd rather spend my life guarding those that I hold dear. I made an oath to your father and I intend on keeping it._ In a way, she thought that she would be able to honor her friend's wishes by joining the Wardens herself. They kept all of Ferelden safe from the threat of darkspawn, which would mean that she would be keeping the people of Highever safe as well. _I will do this, Rory,_ she swore, looking up at the night sky. _I hope that I can make you proud._ "You make a good point," she said out loud. "There is much that I would do in order to ensure the safety of others."

"But still, what do they expect us to give up?"

"I'd give up a great deal," Daveth continued. "Wouldn't you? What price would you pay in order to keep that pretty wife of yours safe? I would have thought that she'd be something worthy of any sacrifice."

Jory stood up straighter and jutted out his jaw. "She is." He would have said more, but Duncan and Alistair joined them just then.

"In order to become Wardens, we must take the taint within ourselves and conquer it," Duncan said, his tone of voice sounding as if he were reciting something by memory. "In doing so, we become immune to the effects of darkspawn."

"Wait," Daveth said, looking at the chalice that Duncan held. "Are you expecting us to _drink_ the blood we gathered up?

"It is what has always been done, ever since the first. We speak little beforehand, but there are a few words that should be said before we continue. Alistair, if you would."

Alistair bowed his head and nodded solemnly. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you."

"Step forward, Daveth," Duncan held the chalice up for him to drink. Daveth made a face as the blood hit his tongue, but swallowed a mouthful. Moira noticed how Alistair seemed to be holding his breath, watching intently for some sort of reaction. Whatever he was waiting for happened quickly after; Daveth grabbed a hold of his throat and started to cough.

"It burns!" he yelled, falling to his knees, choking all the while. He tilted his face up and Moira took a tentative step backwards when she saw that his eyes had rolled to the back of his head until nothing was visible save for the whites of his eyes.

Duncan slowly shook his head. "I am sorry," he said quietly, watching as Daveth finally fell to the ground and lay still.

"He's dead," Moira said in a hushed tone as she knelt beside him, her fingers trying to find a pulse.

"_This_ is the price that you'd have us pay?" Jory asked, looking on in horror.

"It is what every Warden must pay, sooner or later," Duncan said.

Jory shook his head. "No, you ask too much. I have a wife and a child on the way. Had I known…" He was gradually backing up away from them all and he looked behind him when his back hit a wall.

"It must be this way," Duncan said slowly, drawing a knife. Jory realized what his intent was and drew his own weapon, but it was too late; Duncan's dagger went through a weak point in his armor and Moira could only stand and stare in shock as Jory's body slid to the ground. "I am sorry."

"What have you done?" she demanded, standing her ground. Quinn stood in front of her with his ears pinned flat to his head, teeth bared as a low, threatening growl rumbled in his chest.

"Those that do not partake in the Joining after learning what the ritual is must be dealt with in this manner," Duncan told her. "There is no other choice."

"So you plan on murdering me if I refuse as well." Her hands itched to reach for the sword at her back, but she resisted the urge, especially since Duncan was still holding his bloodied dagger. Her armor was a lot lighter than Jory's chainmail had been and Duncan had sliced through that as if the metal hadn't even been there. She knew that she wouldn't stand much of a chance against an opponent as skilled as he, especially since Alistair was standing nearby with his hand on the hilt of his own sword, looking as if he were ready for a confrontation.

"I would rather not do it," Duncan said, his expression pained. "I do not relish the thought of killing _anyone_, particularly those that had shown so much talent. And I would rather not do the same for you, especially after I had sworn to your father that I would keep you safe."

Moira inhaled sharply through her nose. "Do _not_ use my father as a way to get me to do what you want," she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "And what if the same thing should happen to me that happened to Daveth?"

"There are those that will succumb to the Taint. I have faith that you will not; you have a great strength in you that will see you through the Joining."

She glared at the chalice where Duncan had placed it. "Stand down, Quinn," she ordered softly, her back rigid as she walked towards the table the cup sat upon. Quinn gave one last snarl towards Duncan before following closely next to Moira, his hide warm against her legs as he pressed up against her protectively. "There are keepsakes around my neck. Should I not make it through this, do I have your word that you will see them given to my brother and inform him about what happened to our home?"

"You have my word, my lady."

Moira picked up the chalice and took a tentative sip. The blood was acidic against her tongue and she failed to keep herself from gagging at the horrible taste. _In for a bit, out for a sovereign,_ she thought, holding her breath as she tossed back the rest of the contents and swallowed. She felt Duncan take the chalice from her hands, but she couldn't say anything because the night air around her had grown heavy. Her vision swam and the world tilted on its axis, making her fall to her knees. Her lungs were burning, almost as if someone had placed a hot coal down her throat. She coughed, feeling something thick slide down the side of her mouth and over her chin. Quinn barked in her ear and she could feel his tongue bathe her face comfortingly, but then he gave a distressed sounding noise and fell silent. _I'm so sorry Fergus,_ she thought, and then the world went black.

Moira couldn't comprehend what happened next: it seemed as if she were dreaming, though what she was seeing was far more vivid than any dream she had ever experienced. She was standing in the middle of a wasteland, the air around her thick with the stench of death and sulfur. Her hair fluttered in the wind and she looked up in time to see a great dragon circle overhead. She crouched down to make herself as small as possible, shielding her head with her arms. The dragon roared and Moira felt the heat of its breath beat down upon her. She tried to run, but it was as if her feet were frozen in place. The dragon screeched again and Moira could do nothing but kneel there and scream…

Her eyes flew open and she jerked to the side, finding herself unable to lift her arms. It took her a moment, but she realized that she was back in Ostagar instead of whatever wasteland she had been in only seconds before. She blinked; looking up as the night sky slowly came into focus. Duncan was kneeling beside her, his hands on her arms to hold her in place. Alistair hovered behind him, a concerned look on his face. "Welcome," Duncan said, looking down at her in approval. "It seems as if my faith was not ill placed." He moved back and Moira sat up, her hands scrubbing at her face. She grimaced as she wiped at her chin, a dark streak of darkspawn blood and Mabari drool marring her fingers. That was when she realized that Quinn wasn't near her.

"Quinn!" she gasped, rolling to her feet. Her dog lay a few feet beside where she had been, his paws waving in the air as if he were having the same vivid sort of dream that she had just had. He panted, his chest heaving, before he made a squeaking sound that she had never heard him make before.

"It seems as if he got some of the potion when he licked your face," Alistair noted, crouching down beside them. He reached out as if he wanted to put his hands on Quinn in order to soothe him, but he stopped at the last second, curling his outstretched hand into a loose fist before pulling his arm back to his side. Quinn chose then to wake up, rolling onto his side and facing Moira.

"Will he be all right?" she asked, putting her arms around Quinn and burying the side of her face against his fur, relieved when he gave her a soft whuff as if to reassure her that he was fine.

"He should be. I didn't know that animals could participate in the Joining; this is a first."

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked.

She glanced back to where Daveth and Jory's bodies were. She thought back to Jory's wife Helena and how proud she had been when she said that her husband had been recruited. As Teyrna, it would fall upon her to inform Helena of her husband's passing. She might not be able to say exactly how he died, but she hoped that she could think of something to tell her that would ease the newly widowed woman's mind. "I'm fine. It's over."

"When you have recovered, make your way down the stairs. The king is meeting with his advisors about the upcoming battle. I would like for you to be there." Duncan turned and went down the way that he had just described, leaving the three of them where they were.

"I know that this wasn't what you had expected," Alistair said once they were alone. "But I hope you see why we must keep everything so secret. If everyone and their brother knew how Wardens were made then…"

"No, I understand. I will keep silent as to what just happened." It didn't make what had just happened any less horrific, but she knew that shedding light on her new Order's secrets wouldn't bring her companions back from the dead either.

Alistair visibly relaxed. "There's another part to your Joining. Every Warden is given this." He held out a necklace with a flat sort of pendant hanging off it that was engraved with a griffon. "We put a bit of the blood from the Joining into it as a reminder of what we went through," his eyes went to Daveth and Jory's bodies. "As well as to remember those that are no longer with us."

"What happened, is that a regular occurrence?"

He nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. Some people, no matter how strong they are or how good they might be in battle, simply cannot withstand the Taint. There was one death in my own Joining. He had been a rogue, much like yourself. Duncan had picked him up before he had gotten me from the Chantry and we struck up a friendship." Alistair sighed and bowed his head. "He had a way of telling a joke that even if you've heard it a million times it still sounded brand new whenever he said the punch line. He would often leave other Wardens in stitches. His death touched many of us. It was…_horrible_."

"I'm sorry," she told him.

"I'm just glad that you came out alive," he told her. "Duncan was right; you do have something special about you. And I guess your dog does as well, seeing that he made it through all right. It's a good thing too, because now he'll be immune to darkspawn blood as well as the rest of us are _and_ he'll be able to sense them too. I've often noticed how Mabari tend to sense things before us humans do, so with his newfound gifts, he'll be able to let us know before even we do when the nasties start to creep up on us."

"You sound like you're fond of the breed."

"Yes, I am. I had…" he frowned. "I was around dogs a lot as a boy. It was one of the things that I missed dearly when I was sent to live in the Chantry." He seemed to think that he was sharing too much with her, because he shook his head, his cheeks taking on a faint pinkish tinge. "You'd best be on your way. The king is not a person accustomed to being kept waiting. We wouldn't want him to cry or anything."

Moira felt her lips curl upwards. "Cailan doesn't cry. He's far too manly to do such a thing."

"Oh, so you know him well enough to be on a first name basis? Tell me more."

She snorted. "Perhaps once we get finished with this meeting. You're right about one thing; the king does not like to be kept waiting." She whistled for Quinn, who got up on his feet and trotted alongside her, seeming to be none worse for the wear. Moira glanced at the pendant that she held in her hands. The chain was made out of silver and looked to be strong, especially around the catch. The string around her neck seemed weak in comparison, so she ducked to the side and sat on one of the crumbling steps to quickly pull the string holding her parent's rings over her head. She picked the knot free and threaded all three bands onto the new chain, feeling a lot easier now that she knew that her treasured keepsakes were better secured. Dusting her hands off, she stood back up and made her way towards the better lit area there she could already see Cailan standing, resplendent in his golden armor.

"I see that congratulations are in order," Cailan said once she drew near. "The Grey Wardens need as many new members as possible if they are to regain the numbers they once had."

"You put too much faith in legends," a man complained. He had his back to Moira, but she instantly recognized his voice as well as the heraldic device on his shield.

"Teyrn Loghain," she said, waiting until he had turned to face her to give him a deep curtsey. Protocol dictated that he be shown nearly the same respect that was shown towards the king, even if Moira's new title made her of equal status.

Loghain regarded her for a moment, as if trying to place her face. It was to be expected; his teyrnir was far to the east and he had rarely had any dealings with Highever, even if both teyrnirs were the only ones left in Ferelden. He and Moira's father hadn't had many opportunities to socialize in person save for whenever they were summoned to Denerim for Landsmeets. His daughter Anora was married to Cailan; Moira had met with her a handful of times in their youth and only once before the wedding, but she recalled Anora being fair haired and pretty with a soft voice and graceful manner. "You're a Cousland, are you not?" Loghain asked, tilting his head. "Moira, wasn't it?"

"His Lordship is correct," she said, ducking her head. It seemed that no matter what had happened recently, manners that had been taught to her since she could remember were still as strong as ever. She might have been wearing armor stained with darkspawn blood, but she still managed to school her voice into a soft, pleasant sounding tone the way that her mother had taught her without even thinking about it.

"You have my condolences in regards to what has happened to your family. Cailan informed me about what had happened and I agree with him. Once we are done here, we shall turn our attention north and bring Arl Howe to justice."

"Thank you, my lord. Yet as much as I wish to avenge my family, I would like to offer my help here as well."

His eyes roved over her, taking in her bloodied armor and weapons. "I never believed the rumors that traveled even as far as Gwaren, but it seems as if they were true. Bryce Cousland's daughter is no shrinking violet."

She tilted her head to the side but didn't reply. Instead, she turned her attention back to Cailan, who was listening to one of the Circle mages argue with the Revered Mother about just how the mages should be utilized. The mage was clearly agitated about not being able to lay waste upon the battlefield, but Moira could see how he bit his tongue and finally let the matter drop. Plans were made for the Wardens to take the brunt of the battle and Moira glanced over across the table to see Duncan's expression. He added his own suggestions, but seemed to be willing to go along with Cailan's plans as they were. The Teyrn's own army was to hide a little ways away to provide a new wave of fresh fighters that would flank their enemy and take them by surprise. Loghain informed everyone that he would keep a small party of soldiers at the Tower of Ishal who would light the beacon at the very summit that would signal his troops to advance.

"I think that it would be best if the Wardens were to do this," Cailan said suddenly. "In fact, I _know_ that it would be best if we place this important detail in their capable hands. Duncan, I want Alistair and Moira to be the ones to light the beacon."

"It shall be done, your Majesty," Duncan said, sounding a bit surprised. A few minor details were ironed out before Cailan dismissed them all.

"There was something unusual about him," Moira said once she and Duncan were by themselves. While she still resented the fact that he had killed Jory in cold blood, she thought that it would be best if she nursed that hurt in private and began to try to see just what sort of man she had allied herself with. "He looked most distracted."

"I would guess that it had to do with his part in the battle. Cailan insists upon fighting alongside the Wardens, much to his personal guard's dismay."

"He always did like the legends surrounding the Order," Moira remembered, recalling a time in their childhood when her family had stayed in Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim when she had been twelve. The Arl was Cailan's uncle and the then prince hadn't been able to stop talking about the stories of Grey Wardens that he had heard. He had been fourteen at the time and she could remember how he had gotten Fergus to play fight with him, both of them claiming to be Wardens bent on righting wrongs and slaying evil.

Fergus had loved the change of pace. He and Moira had often played games of Dragons and Knights or they pretended to be the Black Fox and his band of merry men. Even though there had only been the two of them, Fergus was often cast as the villain. Having the chance to play the hero alongside the prince had been a breath of fresh air for him, Moira wagered.

"What did you two learn?" Alistair asked once they reached the bonfire. Duncan told him of the king's plans for him and Moira to climb the tower and light the beacon. Alistair was a bit put out, to say the least, once he found out that he wouldn't be part of the main battle.

"Lighting the signal beacon is just as important as fighting on the main lines," Moira tried to reason.

Alistair ground his teeth. "I'm sure it is. All the same, I'd rather…"

"It doesn't matter what you'd rather be doing, Alistair," Duncan said patiently. "We all have our parts to play in this fight and the king chose you specifically."

"I…I understand," Alistair said, sighing. "When shall we light the beacon?"

"Keep an eye on the battlefield. We will give a signal that will let you know that the time is right. I want the two of you to stay at the tower until further notice."

"We will do our best," Moira promised. "Where shall you be?"

"I will be with the king. As Commander of Ferelden's Wardens, it is my duty to keep Cailan safe and free from harm." He looked at both of them. "I know that this doesn't need to be said, but the two of you are Wardens now. I expect you to act in a manner that will make the Order proud."

"Duncan…" Alistair looked up at him, seemingly at a loss for words. "Maker watch over you," he said instead.

"Maker watch over us all."

Alistair watched as Duncan went back down the hill to rejoin Cailan and Loghain. "We can probably watch the beginning of the battle from nearby," he said. "The tower is just over the main bridge, so if we stay near there, all we will have to do is sprint over and climb a few flights of stairs."

"Cailan said your name specifically," Moira said, watching as the armies that had gathered marched in a practiced formation. "Do the two of you know the other?"

"No," Alistair said, his tone flat. "A boy from the Chantry and a young king move in very different social circles, you know. He must have heard Duncan say my name and it stuck with him."

Moira felt as if there were more to his tale than he was letting on, but she let the subject drop. She shivered, feeling the first spatters of raindrops fall. "Awful weather to be fighting in," she said, staring out into the darkness. Her hand went to her chest and she shivered even more violently. Alistair's warning about what sensing darkspawn felt like came to mind when she felt something tug at her, making her head turn to the right where the battle would take place.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Alistair asked quietly, his hands tightening on the low wall they were standing by.

"This is certainly a far cry from the faint tug you said it felt like." It felt awful; instead of a rope around her chest as he had described it, it felt as if someone had grabbed her by the front of her armor and yanked.

"There's more out there, hundreds. This is no mere raid like the king thinks that it is; this is a Blight for sure." His face had lost all traces of its usual good humor and Moira could see how deathly serious he was. "There are too many; this is going to turn out bad."

It seemed that no sooner than he had said it that the first volley of arrows arched towards them. Alistair and Moira were still out of range, but she flinched nonetheless. "We need to get to the tower," she told him, already making her way across the bridge. She didn't wait to see if he followed, but Quinn was already running ahead of her, his hackles raised and body in a threatening stance. There was a loud boom and then a horrible cracking sound behind Moira that had her spinning around to see what had happened that had made the ground shake under her boots. The darkspawn had catapults and were lobbing flaming boulders towards them, one of which had taken out a large chunk of the bridge.

"This is bad," Alistair repeated. "I just wish that I was down there helping!"

"I think you'll get your chance to fight sooner than you think," Moira said, unsheathing her sword and running towards an injured guard. "What's going on?"

"The tower is under attack!" the mage said over his shoulder as he completed a healing spell on the guard. "They came from the lower floors and took everyone unaware."

"Are you able to fight?" Alistair asked.

"I am." The mage stood up and flexed his fingers. Moira nearly dropped her sword when flames surrounded the blade yet left the hilt and cross guard completely cool to the touch. "They seem to be adverse to fire," he explained, doing the same for Alistair's sword. Moira was concerned when she saw Quinn's breath puff out in clouds of smoke, flames licking at his teeth, but it seemed as if her dog was suffering no ill effects or was even aware that he had a mouthful of fire at his disposal.

"Then let's use it against them," Moira said, taking the lead. She felt the nauseating pull that alerted her that there were several close by, followed by a second weaker tug that told her that the first group wasn't alone. "Quinn, _attack_." Her hound growled and bounded off, his teeth sinking into the neck of a genlock. Moira didn't see it go down, but the noise it made told her that Quinn had struck a vital blow to his adversary.

"To your left!" Alistair cried, raising his shield to take the blow that had been meant for her.

_I always beat you because your left side is weak._ Rory's last few words to her rang in Moira's head and she resolved to improve her defense. The Captain of the Guard had often tried to train her to fight with two full sized swords, but she had never gotten the hang of it. She made a silent promise to herself that should she live, she would try her best to put the skills he had taught her to good use. Lunging to her right, she plunged her sword into the gut of a hurlock and twisted, causing entrails to fall from the creature in a sick pile. The stench of burnt flesh added to the nauseous feeling and Moira had to swallow hard to avoid retching. _Don't be so weak,_ she chastised herself as she threw her body into fighting off the attack of yet another hurlock. This one was larger than the others had been and also better armed. _Throwing up right now will only get you killed. Keep it together, Cousland._ She let out a yell and spun around, using all of her momentum to power her attack and give her the strength needed to slice her enemy's head off its shoulders. Blood spurted up in a fountain from the stump of a neck, spraying her with gore.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a messy fighter?" Alistair commented, falling into rank beside her. Quinn flanked her right side, the fur around his mouth matted with dark blood and thicker tissues.

"Are you talking to me or my dog?" Moira asked, wiping at her brow. Blood that wasn't her own seeped under the leather of her fingerless gloves, making them feel tacky and uncomfortable.

"Both, actually."

"I'm afraid that my tutor failed to cover battle etiquette when he taught me to fight," she quipped, tossing back a health potion that took care of the painful gash that she had suffered at the hands of the Alpha hurlock she had just fought. _These might come in handy,_ she thought, kneeling down and gathering the poison flasks the hurlock had attached to its belt. She knew that one of the ways to poison her foe was to coat the blade of a weapon and introduce the toxin to your victim through a cut or stab wound. She didn't want to waste the poison, nor did she want to accidentally infect her companions, so she threw the flasks into her bag for safekeeping.

"Wait here," she whispered. Something was not right; there were flaming barricades blocking their way, and it seemed to Moira as if they had been purposely set ablaze to lead them to a certain point. "This looks like it's a trap." She quietly crept closer, keeping her eyes open for any signs that she was right. The fire might have herded them to a choke point, but it had also inadvertently given the main trap's whereabouts away. Had the light from a nearby barrel not been there, Moira would have never seen the faint outline of a tripwire. Now that she knew where to look, she saw that it was connected to yet another barrel full of something dark. Crouching down and using the barrels as cover – she felt the pull of at least three darkspawn in the room and didn't want to alert them to her presence yet – she carefully disarmed the trap. From her position, she could tell that the barrel that had been poised to tip over was full of oil. Had the trap worked, it would have caused the barrel to fall and spill its contents all over the floor. It would have only taken a single spark from any of the nearby fires to set it, as well as whoever had been hit with the oil as it fell, on fire.

"Emissary!" she yelled, catching the sight of one in the process of casting a spell.

"Oh no you don't," the mage muttered, lobbing a bolt of lightning at it. The genlock flopped around as electricity coursed through its body, the spell interrupted. Alistair quickly ran towards the stunned foe and finished it off. Quinn bounded into the room and took out one of the archers, his teeth closing over its throat, his head shaking vigorously from side to side as if the darkspawn was a chew toy.

"Good boy," Moira praised, taking on the archer's companion. All the enemies in the room cleared, the four of them hurriedly climbed the stairs to the next floor.

"There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here," Alistair huffed, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. He might have made fun of the way that Moira had gotten bloody in the fighting, but the torchlight in the corridor showed that Alistair was just as gory as she was, if not more so.

"Perhaps we should tell them that they're in the wrong spot," she suggested, arching her eyebrow.

"Yeess, because this was all just some great big misunderstanding. I'm certain that once they get over their initial embarrassment at being at the wrong battlefield that we'll just stand around and laugh about it later."

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about being left out of the fighting any longer." She rotated her right shoulder to try to rid it of the beginnings of fatigue. She gave the mage and Alistair a questioning look to see if they were ready to continue, and at their affirmative nods, she pushed open the door leading to the second floor.

"We have to get to the top of the tower," Alistair said. "If the upper levels are taken, then we're the only people that can light the beacon. The lives of everyone below depend on us." He kicked open a door to the left where two darkspawn were hiding while Moira kicked open a door to the right of their hallway, exposing two more enemies. They weren't hard to dispatch, but had they left them alone, Moira was certain that they would have ambushed them later on.

"Use the ballista," the mage offered, already running towards one of the large firing mechanisms to the right. Both giant crossbows were conveniently aimed towards where a large group of darkspawn were. Surprisingly, they hadn't noticed the four of them. Alistair manned the other one while Moira snuck towards the corner where she had seen a chest. The lock was broken and she lifted out several healing poultices, storing them in her pack. Quinn stayed beside her as she ran from the chest to a nearby open crate containing more healing supplies, protecting his mistress until she could rejoin the battle.

"This is far too easy," Alistair told them, adjusting the grip on his sword, his gauntlets slick with dark blood. They entered yet another room, dispatching the darkspawn that they encountered there with ease.

"And that makes you nervous, doesn't it?"

"Incredibly. It almost seems as if there's something higher up the tower; can you feel it?"

Moira nodded her head. Now that he mentioned it, the pull at the center of her chest was growing stronger as they climbed the stairs. She dreaded what awaited them once they reached the top, especially since they were starting to come across what had happened to the poor guards Teyrn Loghain had sent to light the beacon. She covered her mouth and nose with the back of her hand as they passed a macabre tableau, soldier's heads on pikes and bodies torn to pieces. Her boots squelched against something thick and she refused to look down, afraid that if she did that she would lose the thin thread of composure that she was trying desperately to hold onto. _I've never seen such horrors as this,_ she thought, trying not to look too hard at the body that had been set upon a spear very much like a hunter would have put his quarry on a spit for roasting. Quinn seemed to sense her distress, but before he could attempt to offer any sort of comfort, he tensed and ran ahead of them, pinning a genlock that had been hiding in the shadows to the wall as he mauled it. Alistair took down the other genlock waiting on the opposite side of the doorway, leaving Moira and the mage to deal with the others that were straight ahead.

The next room contained other Mabari hounds still locked up in their kennels. Moira quickly ran to a lever that opened all their cages. She didn't even have to yell out any orders to attack; the dogs acted on their own accord, taking down darkspawn with a ferocity that Moira had never seen. Like other dogs, Mabari were pack animals and they worked in unison to take down their enemies in a quick, near systematic manner. She had never seen a number of Mabari fight together before; Highever's kennel master had poor luck breeding the animals and when one of them did have a litter there were only two or three per birth, which was highly unusual. As a result, most of the pups bred would be sent off for training elsewhere. Quinn had been the exception; Gerard had trained him as a puppy, refusing to send him off with the rest of his littermates. He had originally been meant to be Fergus' name day gift from their father two years ago, but Quinn had other ideas, choosing Moira over her brother as the person that he would rather be a guardian for. He was still in that playful stage of life, but one would never know it now, seeing as he was ripping every single darkspawn that he came across to shreds without balking.

"We _have_ to make better time," Moira muttered, holding onto her side. Even though they had the help of several dogs as they cleared the halls free of darkspawn, she had still gotten hit. The mage that had come with them – and how she wished that she had asked for his name instead of just calling him _that mage_ or _hey you_ – had done the best he could to heal her injuries, but he was running low on mana, drawing as much reserves as he could from the dead bodies that littered the floor. "Duncan could have already given the signal and we've missed it. Whether the fight is ready or not, we need to inform the Teyrn's men."

They skidded to a halt when they finally reached the top. Moira's breath seemed to catch in her throat as she stared dumbly at the large, hulking being crouched in the center of the room. It had a soldier's body in its hands and with a single chomp, it bit him in half, armor and all. It must have sensed them, because it turned around and roared.

"Can you slow it down any?" Alistair asked, circling the room and banging on his shield as if to draw the thing's attention.

"I can try." Magic flared around the mage and Moira felt a blast of cold air from behind her. Quinn didn't need any prompting; he ran towards the monster and began to attack, moving out of the way as it tried to kick at him.

"Ogres don't have many weak spots," Alistair warned, dodging a meaty fist as he slashed at the ogre's unprotected middle. "I'll keep it occupied while you run around to the back."

Moira did just that, sneaking behind the ogre and performing a flawless backstab. The effect was immediate; the ogre howled and pivoted around, trying to see who else had entered the fighting. Moira was smart enough to circle with it, keeping close to the body to avoid being detected. While she did that, she continued to make critical hits, which between Alistair's taunts and her backstabs, was enough to distract it so that the mage could cast a blizzard spell. While his spell slowed it down a great deal, it also affected the two of them. Moira's teeth chattered together and her hands tingled as they grew numb from the cold. Alistair shrugged it off, taking a flying leap towards the ogre, his sword catching it in the face and his momentum knocking it onto its back. Alistair used both hands to jam his blade deep into the ogre's eye, not letting go until he was certain that the thing was dead.

"The beacon is right over there," Alistair said, pointing towards a chimney stuffed with lumber. Moira grabbed a nearby flint and frantically tried to make sparks, finally creating a small ember that quickly grew into a blaze.

"I hope that we weren't too late," Moira told the two men, going over to the window overlooking the battlefield. From their vantage point, everyone was merely a speck in the distance, the light from the tower not bright enough to illuminate the battlefield. She whipped her head to the side just in time to see another door burst open and darkspawn flood the room. Moira turned when she heard the strangled cry from behind her, looking back to see the mage collapse to the ground with an arrow stuck in his throat. Moira barely had enough time to turn back around to the fighting when something hit her right shoulder near her collarbone. White hot pain rushed through her side and she staggered from the blow. Her boot slipped in the large puddle of blood from the ogre and she fell backwards, hitting the back of her head hard on the stone floor. The last thing she saw before the room went dark was Alistair reaching towards her just as something large and leathery looking blocked the entire window overlooking the plains, blotting out the night sky.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few moments were a bit of a blur and made no sense to Moira whatsoever. One minute she could clearly remember lying face up in a large puddle of ogre blood and the next she was hallucinating about Morrigan's mother. She couldn't make out what the woman was saying, but her face was drawn into a businesslike manner that reminded Moira of how Nan used to look whenever she or Fergus used to run into their home with scraped knees and other minor injuries. Moira closed her eyes and when she opened them again, Morrigan was standing over her as well, looking over her mother's shoulder as the older woman explained something. _Why can't I hear?_ Moira wondered. _And why is it that I can't say a word? Am I dead? Is this what happens when you die?_

The next thing she knew, she had traded in her lack of sound for a lack of vision. "Please, wake up," someone was saying next to her ear. She tried to turn her head towards the voice, but found that she couldn't move. Moira attempted to recognize who was talking – the voice was definitely male, but she couldn't make out who was addressing her.

"Nate?" she whispered, amazed that she had managed to open her mouth enough for that single syllable to come out.

The person at her side must not have heard her, because he continued to plead for her to give him some sign that she was aware of his presence. "It's been nearly two days; please." She felt a vague pressure on top of her hand, but she couldn't flex her fingers or do anything. After a while, the voice stopped pleading with her and she slipped back into darkness.

She didn't know how long she was out, but Moira blinked her eyes and stared up at the bare rafters of a hut. She made a pained noise and attempted to sit up, but found that her right shoulder wasn't allowing her to do much of anything.

"Ah, so your eyes finally open," someone said to her left. Moira turned her head and saw that Morrigan was indeed standing there at her bedside, her hands on her hips and her head tilted to the side. "I was wondering when you would decide to wake. Your friend has been most anxious for your recovery."

Moira groaned and finally succeeded in sitting upright. She glanced down at herself, wondering where her clothes had gone off to. Her necklace was cold against her skin, as were the three rings threaded on it; the fact that they hadn't been lost a great relief to Moira. "Morrigan?" she asked, putting a hand to the back of her head. Her fingers came back sticky with some red substance, but a tentative sniff told her it was nothing more than a very potent healing salve. She closed her eyes again, feeling as if someone was pounding on her skull with a spiked hammer.

"I'm glad to see that your memory wasn't scrambled along with the contents of your skull," Morrigan dryly said. "You took quite a nasty hit there. Mother and I were almost about to place wagers on when or _if_ you would wake."

"How did I get here?" She sat up straighter. "The battle! How did it go?"

"What is the last thing that you remember?"

Moira frowned. "I remember fighting an ogre, then lighting the signal beacon." She looked down at her bandaged shoulder. "Darkspawn attacked the room we were in and I was hit with an arrow, but after that, I don't remember anything." She decided against telling Morrigan about recalling how a dragon had torn off the roof of the tower, thinking that it was the product of the hit she had taken to the head.

"You did not miss very much," Morrigan explained. "My mother rescued the three of you – yes, your dog is quite all right. Once he saw that we meant you no harm, he paid us little heed. The man in charge of leading the relief army quit the field; the darkspawn horde was far too much for the ones left behind. I'm sad to say that there is no one left alive, including Ferelden's king."

Moira put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Cailan," she said, bowing her head. While she hadn't had many dealings with the man after the two of them had grown past childhood, he _had_ been a kind person. He had never had a cross word to say to anyone and had a talent for making everyone around him feel at ease. Moira had been present at his coronation and wedding, and even though he had only held the throne for a mere five years, he had shown great promise as being a good and just leader. The country would dearly miss him. "You said that my friend was anxious. You meant Alistair, yes?"

Morrigan picked up a clay jar from the small bedside table and placed it on a nearby shelf. "If you mean the dim-witted, suspicious one from before, then yes. He has done nothing but brood since getting here. It is most annoying."

Moira swung her legs over the side of the bed, pausing when the room spun around her. "Thank you for healing me."

Morrigan looked as if she didn't quite know what to say. "I…" she started, looking perplexed. "My mother did most of the work; I am no healer. I merely handed her the things that she needed when she needed them."

"But thank you all the same. I must go to Alistair and Quinn, to let them know that I'm all right." Her mind was already racing; if everyone had been killed on the battlefield that meant that _all_ the Grey Wardens had met their doom there. Her fingers tightened on the sheets underneath her. That meant that not counting Quinn, she and Alistair were the only two who were able to sense the darkspawn threat and bring an end to the Blight. "Just like every adventure tale, indeed," she muttered, thinking back to Ser Gilmore's exclamation when they had battled rats in Nan's larder. Little did she know how prophetic the knight's words would turn out to be.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She looked around the hut, shivering in merely her smallclothes. "Where are my clothes?"

"I piled them there, by the hearth. If you are well enough, then you may go and get them."

_Not a healer, indeed,_ Moira thought, noticing how Morrigan had chosen her words. It made her think of Nan again and how she had acted when Moira had been ill as a child. _If you can cross the room to get dressed by yourself, then I shall declare you well enough to run about and play._ "Thank you." She took a breath and stood on shaky legs as the room did funny dips and spins around her. She did manage to sit down on one of the chairs by the hearth, pulling on her wool socks as she did so. The thin linen breeches and tunic were next; Moira noticed that while the breeches had escaped relatively unscathed, the tunic had a large slice through the neckline where they must have cut so they could remove the arrow. The tear had been expertly mended, but the black thread that had been used to sew up the damage stood out against the pale blue fabric and the material was stained with her blood. She drew the garment over her head, noticing how the bloodstain didn't feel stiff and how the fabric smelled somewhat clean, letting her know that someone had laundered her clothes while she had been unconscious. Her boots and armor were similarly clean, though she had a feeling that she owed that thanks more to Alistair instead of Morrigan or her mother. By the time that she had strapped her sword to her back, she felt exhausted, almost as if she had been running practice drills for the better part of the day. She let out a shaky breath and wobbled towards the door.

"At least you have not passed out like I thought you might," Morrigan said, giving her an appraising glance. "You are made of stronger stuff than I had thought to give you credit for. Go to my mother; she should be outside. I shall remain here and make us something to eat."

Moira thanked her again before pushing on the door to the hut. The sun was bright and she shielded her eyes as she tried to take in what was before her. Alistair stood at the edge of a small pond, despondently skipping stones along the surface.

"I would not do that if I were you," Morrigan's mother warned from where she was picking herbs nearby, her basket nearly full. "There are things that live there that do not like to be disturbed."

Quinn was the first to notice Moira's presence. He stood up from where he had been lying down and soaking up the sunlight next to Alistair and gave a happy sounding bark, trotting over to her side and nearly bowling her over in his exuberance. "Down, Boy," she laughed, scratching behind his ears affectionately.

"You're awake," Alistair said, turning towards her. "I had feared…" He swallowed hard and looked as if he had wanted to give her a hug, but thought against it at the last minute, his arms falling back to his sides. "I was so worried when you didn't respond right away."

"Thank you for your concern, Alistair," she told him. She stepped towards him and wrapped her arms around his middle, partly for support, but mostly because it looked as if he had needed the hug. Alistair's arms went up and hovered over her before tentatively settling around her shoulders as if he hadn't known where to put his hands.

"Everyone is gone," he said in a hoarse voice. "Duncan…" He stepped back and looked away, unable to continue.

"I know, Morrigan told me that Loghain had abandoned them."

"Loghain," Alistair spat, his eyes darkening in fury. "He left them all to die; he shall be punished for his crimes!"

Moira couldn't help but think that he sounded very much like she had felt since fleeing her own home. "He shall, Alistair. I promise you that we'll see the Order avenged. Being a kingslayer is not something that justice takes lightly." She thought about that; Loghain's own daughter was Queen; what did Loghain gain in leaving Cailan to die? Everyone in the proper circles knew that Cailan had been the pretty, rallying cover for Anora, who had been the true ruler ever since saying "I do" to her husband. Cailan hadn't seemed to mind and the royal couple had genuinely been in love, so no one thought to question their arrangement. Now what did Loghain plan on doing? He was the Hero of the River Dane and considered one of Ferelden's finest generals. Did he plan on taking the throne as his daughter's regent? And what of Ferelden? With the death of their king, there would be a need for a new ruler. Would the politicians allow Anora to remain in power or would they seek someone new? Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan came to mind; they were Cailan's uncles, after all. Even if their ties to the throne were by marriage alone, either one of them would be capable of becoming the next king, in Moira's opinion. Moira's own father would have been right behind them; as one of the only two remaining Teyrns in Ferelden, Bryce Cousland had long since shown his loyalty to his king and country many times over.

Then again, Moira's father was dead and Fergus was still missing in the field. The Couslands were in no shape to even think of politicking for such a lofty position. Moira herself wanted no part in politics, taking herself out of the equation entirely. _Though there was a time not so long ago that you wanted nothing more than to become the future Arlessa of Amaranthine…_ She blinked. _That_ path was closed to her forever, thanks to Nathaniel's father.

"Moira?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry. I was miles away." She put a hand to the side her head. "What shall we do now?"

Alistair looked lost. "I don't know. I've been thinking about just that for the past day. We are the last Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden. It is our sworn duty to defend the land against the Blight and to put an end to the archdemon. But…" he spread his hands. "How do we do that with just the two of us?"

"Surely we have some allies that we can call upon for help," Moira suggested.

He looked up. "We do! Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar, so he still has his entire army. He is a good and just man, I'm sure that he would come to our aid. And even more, he _was_ Cailan's uncle; he has a personal stake in bringing Loghain to justice." He began to pace in front of her. "But even with the Arl's men, that's surely not enough to bring down the horde _and_ the archdemon. Many men from various lords had been in Ostagar and they all had died."

Moira's heart went out to the soldiers that had worn the Highever colors. "Then we shall need more allies if we're going to build up our own army."

"It sounds as if you have a plan," Morrigan's mother commented, putting aside her herbs and standing next to Moira. Without preamble, she reached out and lifted Moira's eyelid with her thumb, her own eyes looking critically at Moira's pupils. "There doesn't seem to be permanent damage," she said more to herself. "Are you dizzy? Weak in the knees?"

"A little," Moira confessed.

"Just as I figured. You've risen from bed far too early, but it can't be helped. Time waits for no one, especially for the two of you. You have a lot of work ahead of you."

"It all sounds great in theory," Alistair said, biting his lip in indecision. "But in practical use? _Can_ we build an army and defeat the archdemon?"

"I don't see why not. You two are young and things will be accomplished if you truly put your mind and backs into your work."

"But there's that little matter of me not knowing how to do this."

Morrigan's mother quirked her eyebrow. "Not know how to do what? How to raise an army or how to defeat an archdemon? Those sound like two different things."

Moira thought of something. "What of the treaties that Duncan sent us out to retrieve? Have you looked at them?"

Alistair snapped his fingers. "Of course! Those treaties are with the Wardens and various other folk of Ferelden! Dwarves, elves and mages are sworn to help us during the Blight! We can go to each and call them duty-bound!"

"I may be old, but it seems as if dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon and whoever else you might run into along the way sounds like an army to me."

"She's right," Moira said. "We _can_ do this. We _must_ do this, for the sake of everyone. We might not know how to defeat the archdemon now, but there is a long way between here and each of these people who we're going to be paying visits to. We'll figure it out on our way."

"Now, _here_ is a sensible young lady. I'm so glad to see that your head wasn't too injured."

Moira bowed as best as she could. "And I have you to thank for my swift recovery. You have my most heartfelt thanks."

"No no, you two are the heroes here. I was just doing my part to make sure that you're kept alive." She looked thoughtful. "There is one last thing that I can give you that will greatly aid your quest though."

"We shall gratefully take whatever you can offer," Moira told her. "What is it?"

"The stew is bubbling on the fire, Mother," Morrigan said, coming out of the hut. "Shall we have two guests for dinner or none?"

"None. These Wardens are leaving now, and you are going with them."

Morrigan looked at Alistair. "Such a shame…" Her mind caught up with what her mother had just said. "_What?_"

"The last time I checked, you had ears, girl." Her mother laughed at her own joke. "You heard me."

"But Mother, I am not ready."

"You're as ready as you're going to be. You've been itching to get out of the Wilds for years, this is your chance."

"But…"

"No arguments. I will not take no for an answer from you, girl."

"Not to look a gift…" Alistair winced. "Horse in the mouth, as it would be, but outside of the Wilds, the two of you are apostate mages."

"And this troubles you because?" Morrigan's mother said archly. "My magic got you out of that tower, did it not?"

"Alistair, we need all the help we can get," Moira said, putting a hand on his arm.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You're right. Welcome aboard, Morrigan."

The mage gave him a cross look. "If you would allow me to get my things, I shall be ready to leave shortly."

"Thank you again," Moira told Morrigan's mother. "If you don't mind me asking, we never got your name."

"Names are pretty, but not very important," the older woman said. "The Wilds people call me Flemeth."

Alistair took a step backwards. "_The_ Flemeth from legend? Daveth was right; you _are_ the Witch of the Wilds."

She stared him down. "There are many who would say that, but then again, I could merely be an old woman who happens to have the same name as some character in a child's storybook. What you believe is up to you."

"That is everything," Morrigan said, threading a large wooden staff through the pack she had on her back. "Do not let the stew bubble over; I'd hate to return to a burnt out shell of a home."

Flemeth snorted. "It's not likely that you will ever find anything here, should you ever return here again. The darkspawn will have overcome this place as well as the lands beyond."

Morrigan looked away, her expression sullen. "I…what I meant was…"

Flemeth looked at her daughter with a soft expression in her eye. "I know what you meant. Now do try to have fun, my dear. I shall be fine. Old Flemeth didn't live this long without learning a thing or two about survival."

"I suggest replenishing our supplies in the town of Lothering," Morrigan said, pointing towards the north. "It is but a two day trek from here; we should find everything that we are looking for there."

"That sounds like a good idea," Moira said, noting now light her own pack that Alistair had been keeping safe felt. The burlap sack from Highever was still folded neatly on the bottom and her fingers brushed over the thick square of paper she had placed inside once she had purchased the bag. If she looked hard enough, she could see Nathaniel's handwriting through the opposite side of his message. _He always did have a habit of pressing too hard on the quill as he wrote,_ she thought, thinking back to how she had often sat in bed with his latest messages in hand, tracing her fingers over the letters and feeling the impression the pen had left on the paper. It had been the closest way she had of touching him for the past six years and the act had always brought her some comfort. Her fingers did that now, her nail going over the embossed outline his _I love you_ had left on the other side of the page. "We really should be off."

Alistair took the lead for a short time before surrendering it to Morrigan, who knew the lay of the land best. "Have you seen any scouting parties this far into the Wilds?" Moira asked her, hoping that she might have heard of any and praying that Fergus had been among the living. She _refused_ to think that he might have gotten killed by the very same horde that had gone through Ostagar. Fergus _was_ alive; she had always been so close to her brother, surely she would have been able to sense if he had died away from home.

"No," Morrigan replied, looking behind her shoulder. "We are close enough to Ostagar that our home was probably not even considered a good place to go looking for darkspawn, yet far enough out of the way to avoid any scouting expeditions. Are you hoping that one of your members survived?"

"Something like that," Moira said, feeling slightly deflated.

"It's a very slim chance," Morrigan continued. "From what I've heard, darkspawn aren't too terribly fond of letting their captives live and whoever you were looking for would have had to have been incredibly lucky to stay undetected for so long."

"Nice one, Morrigan," Alistair said, noticing the way that Moira's shoulders fell. Even Quinn seemed to look distressed at that bit of knowledge. "Next time you have the urge to spread news of the gloom and doom variety, do it with an even _heavier _hand."

"She asked a question and I did my best to answer it. Should I sugar coat everything for you instead? Shall I skip along the trail and sing of sunshine and daisies? Will puppies and rainbows fall from the sky any time soon?"

"I'd rather you not say anything at all," Alistair muttered to himself, shouldering his pack higher.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Lead on."

They walked for a considerable distance until the sun began to set low over the horizon. "We should probably set up camp," Morrigan suggested. "It isn't wise to travel these lands at night; there are a great many things besides darkspawn that like to hide in the shadows and snatch away any prey foolish enough to brave the darkness."

"It would be a relief to sit and rest," Moira agreed, setting her pack down and sitting down on the ground beside it. She had been feeling nauseous all day long but hadn't said anything, lest her complaints tack on extra time to their trip. "How long do you think it would be before we get to Lothering's gates?"

"We've made good time today, so if we get an early start, then we should reach the town before mid-morning." Morrigan claimed a tree with bare branches as her camping spot and began gathering as much fallen wood as she possibly could. "I'd start thinking about making a fire if I were you two," she cautioned.

"I thought that was what you were doing," Alistair said.

She snorted. "I am building a fire for _myself_. I said that I would go with you and I said that I would show you to the nearest town. I never said a word about babysitting the both of you."

Alistair mumbled something under his breath, but even Moira couldn't decipher what he had said. She attempted to stand, but fell back on her rear as the world did another one of those interesting dips again.

"Your head is still not healed, is it not?" Morrigan suddenly asked, setting aside her pile of firewood and coming over to Moira. "You should have said something earlier."

"If I did, then we wouldn't have made as good time as we have," Moira said, holding onto the side of her head.

Morrigan's lips thinned out in disapproval. "Mother certainly saddled me with the best companions: one stubborn as a rock and the other just as dumb." She took out a glass vial from a small sack tied to her belt and handed it to Moira. "Drink this slowly. If you swig it all down at once you're likely to throw it and everything else up soon after."

"What was it?" Moira asked, sipping the contents. She could taste something vaguely sweet that cut the heavy medicinal aftertaste and her headache quickly vanished.

"It has the same ingredients that you use for a potent health poultice, but in liquid format. It's something that I've been working on perfecting for a while now." She stared at Moira's face as if to try and see if the potion was working. "No hives," she mused to herself. "It seems as if this batch was a success."

Moira drank the rest of the potion down and handed the empty vial back to Morrigan. "You should be fine to move around now," the witch informed her, going back to her own little space. Moira watched as Morrigan arranged a small amount of the firewood into a circle, then as she flicked her fingers at the wood. A second later, smoke began to curl into the air and the mage had a pleasant looking fire burning.

"Handy, having a mage around," Moira muttered, getting up and dusting her palms off. She joined Alistair and the two of them managed to gather enough wood nearby to feed their own campfire for the rest of the evening. Alistair didn't say anything as they worked, and he was silent while Moira lit the fire. For her part, Moira took stock of their little party. Morrigan was busily grinding herbs with a stone mortar and pestle while softly humming to herself as she worked, paying no heed to either of them. Alistair might have been sitting near Moira, but he was worlds away, his arm resting on his knee as he stared intently into the fire. Quinn curled up next to her and set his head on her thigh, giving a great doggie yawn as he did so. He rolled his eyes up to look at his mistress, who obliged him and scratched the middle of his back where he couldn't reach. Quinn panted his thanks, snuggling even closer to Moira to help ward off the growing nighttime chill as best as he could. Moira gathered the edges of her traveling cloak together and huddled underneath, listening as the Wilds finally came alive with nocturnal sounds. She had thought that it had been eerie spending the night where everything was so still when they had gone out to look for the abandoned outpost, but it was even more unsettling to listen to the strange noises that came out from the darkness beyond their fire. Once during the night they all heard a loud shriek of some sort of bird – or at least Moira _thought_ that it was a bird – and then rustling in the grass as if something was struggling, then nothing. Quinn had raised his head off of Moira's leg to growl in the direction that the noise had come from, but he soon put his head down and resumed his previous nap, letting Moira know that if he hadn't been worried about the commotion then it wasn't something that was a threat to them. She fell into a fitful sleep soon afterward, still sitting upright.

When she opened her eyes next, Moira noticed two things. One, she had a horrible crick in her neck from where her chin had fallen to rest against her chest as she slept and two, Morrigan was nowhere to be found. "Just our luck," Alistair grouched, kicking at the fire to extinguish the last of the hot coals. "We're stuck in the middle of nowhere without any knowledge as to where we're going. I _knew_ she was going to do something like this."

"You have very little faith," Morrigan said, coming up out of a tall patch of grass behind them. "I was merely taking the opportunity of a pleasant morning to gather a few herbs that I had been lacking. The two of you were sleeping so soundly that I thought I would have been able to return before you woke."

"Well, we're up now," Moira said diplomatically. "And it is indeed early. Shall we move along?" Her stomach growled loudly, but Moira knew that they didn't really have anything to eat. She made a note to visit whatever bakery or store in Lothering that offered food first.

"Here," Alistair said, handing her something. "I had a little extra in my pack."

Moira looked down at the chunk of cheese and strip of dried jerky Alistair had offered her. "Thank you," she said, tearing the jerky into pieces to hand to Quinn, who gobbled it up hungrily, sniffing at her fingers when it was done to see if she had any more to share. "Applewood cheddar," she noted, nibbling delicately at the cheese. "There is a dairy in Highever that makes something similar to this." The dairy was on the outskirts of Highever, close to where the farmlands began so that the cows had plenty of pasture to graze in. She recalled the trip she and her father had taken when she had been a young girl. The farmer who owned the land had seen how interested she had been in the whole process and had taken the time to allow her to sample the core pieces that they used to test the aging of certain wheels of cheese.

"I haven't tried any from Highever, but this comes from the monastery close to Redcliffe. They have a unique aging process for several of the other cheeses that they're famous for, one where they deeply pierce the rind and actually _encourage_ mold to grow. It smells like feet, but the finished product tastes delicious."

"You're quite the cheese connoisseur, aren't you?" she asked, smiling. If anything, Alistair was in great need of cheering up.

"Aspiring aficionado, more like. Now Duncan…" Alistair stopped, the tiny smile that he had worked so hard to attain vanishing from his face. "Duncan was quite fond of it himself." He seemed to draw into himself and Moira's heart went out to him. She had been in the same place that he currently was. In many ways, she was still in that same place, though she had forced herself to set her feelings aside for a later date when other pressing things weren't present.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you haven't known me long," she said, echoing his words from earlier. "But if you ever have a need for a sounding board, I'm here."

"Thanks," he said, his eyes looking a little less haunted. "I don't know when, but I just might take you up on that offer."

"Whenever you're ready, I'll be here to talk." She gave his arm a final pat before whistling for Quinn, who came back from investigating the area they were walking towards in order to stay near her side. Moira looked over her shoulder and saw that while Alistair was still deeply mourning his companions that had fallen, at least he didn't look as lost as he had yesterday.


	5. Chapter 5

"And here we are," Morrigan said, gesturing towards the bridge. "Glamorous Lothering, in all its glory."

"There seems to be some sort of trouble up ahead," Moira said, noticing the way that several men had gathered along the entrance to the bridge. She shaded her hands to ward off the late afternoon sunlight, noticing how the men had perked up at their approach. "They don't look to be the welcoming committee either."

"Greetings, travelers!" one of them said. He was slicker in appearance and voice than the others, so Moira instantly put him as their leader. "Welcome to Lothering, but first, we have to ask you to pay a toll."

"A toll?" Moira asked, arching her eyebrow. "For what?"

"Ah, so it looks like the pretty one is your leader. My fair lady, the toll is for road repair."

She snorted. "Then I guess you haven't had much success with gathering money. The road up to here was poorly maintained indeed. This very bridge looks like it could crumble should we walk too loudly across it."

"And that is why we need your generous contributions. Ten silvers each will be plenty."

Moira's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Thirty silvers total? What are you planning on doing, paving the streets with gold?"

"Actually, it's more like forty silvers. We do have a pet tax in town, you know."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't think so."

"Come on, lady," the leader's companion said. His speech was deeper and a bit slower sounding than the leader's, which made Moira figure that he got through life depending on brute strength instead of wit. "Don't make us take it the hard way."

"They're nothing but common bandits," Morrigan said, distaste coloring her words. "I say that we teach them a lesson they won't soon forget."

Moira caught sight of a body that was partially hidden behind a few crates. The sunlight shone off the corpse's armor, identifying it as a Templar. "I think you're right," she agreed, cracking her knuckles. "You would dare to impede the process of the Grey Wardens?"

The thug's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Grey Wardens? Them's the ones that killed the king."

"What did you say?" Alistair demanded, breaking the moody silence that he had been under for the better part of the day.

"And if we are? Would you risk tangling with us?" Moira asked, attempting to be intimidating. She knew that she was slight of build and not actually well practiced in the art of intimidation, so she quickly changed tactics and decided to persuade the bandits instead. She was good at that; she found that it was easy for her to sweet talk almost anyone into doing what she wished. While not as good as her mother had been – Eleanor Cousland had a way of asking people to do something that she knew they were adverse to doing in such a manner that not only did they do it, but they thought that it was their idea in the first place – Moira excelled in reading her mark's body language and building her case from what she discerned. "We just might leave you alive if you decide to lift this little toll you've imposed." Having Quinn growl menacingly at her side helped her case considerably.

The leader's eyes widened. "Of…of course, my lady. Please, step on by with our blessing."

"We could probably use a donation as well. I'd say that twenty silvers should suffice."

Money jingled. "Wouldn't you know it?" the leader asked, laughing. "Our last patron was overly generous. We happen to have exactly twenty silvers to spare."

"Many thanks," Moira told him, taking the money and stepping over the bridge's stone threshold. She nodded to the rest of the bandits, who were looking at her with a mixture of fear and wariness, as if they didn't believe their good fortune would last.

"You aren't going to leave them here, are you?" Alistair asked, looking over his shoulder. "Did you not see the body of that Templar? They _will_ kill others that decide not to pay their toll."

Moira stopped and looked at him. "I know that," she said. "I was just giving them a false sense of security."

"So you mean to do something about them?"

"Of course." Clearing her throat, she turned back to the bandits. "Gentlemen, there has been an awful mistake."

The leader of the highwaymen tilted his head. "Mistake? What sort?"

"Well, I feel absolutely dreadful about taking your money. Here, please take it back." She tossed the silver coins to the nearest bandit, who fumbled as he tried to catch them all. The coins that he had missed clattered to the ground and rolled about on the bridge's stonework.

"Not to sound ungrateful, but what prompted this change of heart?"

Moira crossed her arms over her chest. "You see, I just didn't feel right about taking your profits away without taking some of those ill gotten goods that you've accumulated as well. And I can't just leave you here to continue business; the logical solution would be to cut you down and take whatever I pleased once you're all dead."

The goon standing beside the leader blinked. "Well, that makes sense…" His mind seemed to catch up with Moira's words and he narrowed his eyes. "Wait, she said…"

"Yes, my friend. It seems as if she has a death wish." The leader reached behind his back and brought out a dagger. "Attack!"

"Oh, I was waiting for this to happen!" Morrigan exclaimed excitedly, moving away from the main fighting range.

"Getting a little wordy, aren't you?" Alistair asked, blocking an arrow with his shield.

"What can I say? I tend to babble when I get nervous." Moira kicked up a big cloud of dirt to use as a weak screen before slipping into her stealth mode. She knew that her stealth skills were weak, all that she had really used them for was to sneak down the corridors of her own home without being detected by the guards, but she hoped that she would make herself a smaller target until she got rid of the two archers. The tactic seemed to work, because everyone's attention was currently focused on Quinn and Alistair.

The tang of ozone filled the air and a flash of light made one of the bandits scream. Morrigan laughed soon after and she pointed her staff at another target, lighting crackling around the tip. Moira lunged towards the archer closest to her before he could fire at Morrigan, quickly shoving her dagger deep into the unguarded area between the bandit's arm and side. He went down with a pained moan and Moira finished him off with a slice of her sword.

Unfortunately, she wasn't good enough in the stealth department to actually continue hiding while she fought, so her position was given away to the rest of their foes. She had to quickly jerk her sword out of the dead archer's body and dodge to the right to avoid getting hit with the remaining archer's arrows. There was a loud snarl and Quinn jumped onto the archer, his jaws clamping over the man's throat.

"Hey ugly!" Alistair taunted, banging his sword against the side of his shield. "Yeah, you, the big stupid fellow!" Alistair visibly gulped as the large goon charged at him, and he wound up having to use his shield to deflect many of the bigger man's attacks. He wasn't fighting with any weapons besides his bare fists, but the impact of them against metal was enough to make Alistair's arm ring with each blow. His boots skidded backwards until he braced his legs and began his own attack, using the shield as a weapon. He lashed out in a quick flurry of strikes, hitting the goon three times in the face with his shield. The first and second hit made the other man stumble backwards, but the third, which Alistair aimed square at the bandit's chin, sent him reeling until he stumbled to the ground. Alistair had a brief moment of pity for the man as he lay there with his arms thrown up in defensive gesture, but then he caught sight of the body of the Templar laying there and steeled his resolve to bring his sword down. _For such a big bully,_ Alistair thought, _he certainly screamed like a little girl when he went down._

"Wait!" The leader cried, throwing his dagger to the ground. "We give up! Please, we surrender!"

Moira was breathing heavily, her sword dripping with blood. "I thought you'd see things my way."

"Please! Don't kill us! We'll give you everything that you want!" The leader of the bandits pointed to the chest that was partially hidden by their makeshift roadblock. "There's a hundred coins in that chest, take them all! It's all we've collected, I swear!"

"And if I let you go?" Moira asked. "What will you do then?"

"We'd leave here and never come back! Just let us escape with our lives!"

"It would be most foolish of us to believe him," Morrigan said, kneeling to rifle through the pockets of the dead bandits. "What's to say that they won't set up their little operation somewhere else?"

"I hate to say it, but I agree with her," Alistair told her, glaring at the three other surviving bandits who glared right back.

"They're both right," Moira reasoned. "I can't have the rest of you wandering around Ferelden unchecked. I will take you with us into Lothering. I'm certain that the authorities there can deal with you however they wish."

"There aren't any authorities," the leader spat out. "They've all fled with the majority of the people."

"Then I shall leave you to the mercy of the people that you've stolen from that happen to still be in town."

The leader seemed to think back at all the people that he had swindled out of their hard earned money and blanched. Moira didn't know what other sort of evil the group had done to those that had resisted, but it must have been severe, because the man's eyes hardened. "I'm not going down without a fight!" he cried, pulling a second dagger out from behind the small of his back and lunging towards Moira. She had anticipated him doing something like that, so she was already moving, her sword coming down on his forearm, slicing through leather and bone. The leader shrieked and sank to his knees, holding onto the bloody stump of his arm. Moira used his position to quickly behead him. It all happened within a matter of seconds, but to her, time had seemed to stretch out and her movements seemed to go in slow motion, almost as if she were watching someone else do the deed. She turned around to see how the rest of her companions were faring and it seemed as if they had done the same. Smoke curled out from one bandit's chest as he lay sprawled on his back, Alistair was wiping his blade on the clothes of another man, and Quinn stepped over the third, licking his chops and looking pleased with himself. Moira looked down at the ruin that they had just caused and her gorge rose, making her clench her jaw and quickly look away. She was no killer; she didn't enjoy doing what she had just done, but they had left her with little choice. She stared down at the leader's head, which had rolled about a foot away from his body. _You're getting too good at beheading folk,_ she thought, wiping blood off her chin with the back of her hand. Her legs were shaky as she stared into the dead man's eyes. Why were they attacking the bridge in the first place? Did they have families that were dependent on the money that they brought, no matter how illegal the means were? Did this man have a wife or a child who would forever wait for him, wondering why he never came back home? What…

"Don't think too hard on them," Alistair said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "They were bandits and murderers; what they were doing was wrong and we put a stop to it before they could hurt other innocent people."

"Was I that obvious?"

He gave her an odd, lopsided smile that looked vaguely sympathetic. "Only to those who go through the same thought process."

She glanced down at the dead bodies again. "I don' think that I'll ever get used to this," she confessed.

"Good. The moment you do is the moment that I start to worry about you."

Moira knelt down beside the Templar. "This poor man probably never stood a chance against them." Something glimmered at the corpse's neck and Moira gently unclasped the necklace she found there. "Perhaps he was going to meet someone here. The least we could do is to ask if anyone knew him and give them this memento to remember him by."

"What? You aren't thinking of selling that?" Morrigan asked, looking over her shoulder. "It ought to fetch a pretty price in the market."

Moira shook her head. "He died for money, Morrigan," she said quietly. "I won't have anything else of his be traded for coin either, no matter how much it might sell for." She stood and went to the chest that the bandit leader had spoken of. It was full of coins, just as he had said, as well as several items that would be useful for making spring traps. Moira put the money into her belt pouch and the trap materials into her bag.

"Ah, Lothering. Pretty as a picture, isn't it?" Alistair said as they reached the other side of the bridge.

"I was wondering when you were going to start with the inane sarcastic remarks," Morrigan commented, inspecting her nails.

"You have been very quiet, Alistair," Moira said, shooting a warning glance at Morrigan that the witch chose to ignore.

"He's more than likely been inspecting his navel."

"As I said, you have been quiet. Is everything all right?"

He nodded. "Actually, I _have_ been thinking."

"Small wonder you haven't said much; I warrant it took all your concentration to think and walk upright at the same time."

"Morrigan…"

Morrigan actually listened to Moira for once, putting her hands up in an 'okay, okay' gesture.

Alistair glared. "Does it really shock you that I might be upset that my all friends and companions, not to mention my mentor, have just recently died?" he asked. He wasn't quite yelling, but his voice was thick with emotion. "What would you do if you had heard that your mother had been killed?"

"What? Before or _after_ I stopped laughing?"

His temper died down a little and he curled his lip at her. "_Right_. I keep on forgetting that you're incapable of feeling the same things that normal, _sane_ people feel."

_Great, a former Templar and an apostate mage at the other's throats for the duration of the journey. I do not need this. _"We don't have time to start petty quarrels; we have an army to build, remember?" Alistair looked contrite, but Morrigan just went back to inspecting her nails, making a small sound when she realized that she had cracked one with that last fireball she had lobbed at the bandits. "Now, what have you been thinking about?"

"I was wondering which way we should go first. Have you read the treaties?"

"No, I haven't had a chance to. Have you?"

"I have. There are three scrolls there that bind the dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish elves, and the mages of the Circle Tower to lend their aid when the Grey Wardens call for it during a Blight. This is _definitely _a Blight, so we're within our rights to call upon them, but we're at a sort of crossroads. Where do we go first?"

"I don't know." Moira went down the steps and snatched up a nearby stick. Crouching down, she drew a rough map of Ferelden in the dirt. "We are somewhere around here," she said, putting an X to mark their location. "The dwarves are here, the Circle is here, and as for the Dalish elves, they could be anywhere." She knew from Brother Aldous' teachings that the Dalish elves wandered wooded areas, so their best bet of encountering at least one of their groups would be to head into the Brecilian forest to the northeast.

"And Arl Eamon's home is here," Alistair said, taking the stick from Moira and marking Redcliffe on their makeshift map. "As I said before, he is a good man and will lend us his aid. If it were up to me, I would go to him first."

"And what of you, Morrigan?" Moira asked, looking behind her shoulder. Morrigan jerked her hand back quickly and looked away. It took a second to understand what had just happened, but Moira saw that Quinn had gone beside Morrigan and was snuffling at her boots and hands, which he often did whenever he met someone new. Obviously he hadn't seen her as a threat, because he was still standing next to her. In fact, he was actually _leaning_ against the mage's legs, his head tilted upward to invite her to pet him. Morrigan must have been about to do just that when Moira had addressed her. "What do you think?" she wondered, deciding to ignore what she just saw, seeing that Morrigan was clearly embarrassed by the visible crack in her façade of indifferent disdain.

"Stupid dog," she muttered, stepping aside and brushing off a speck of dirt from the feathers at her shoulder. Clearing her throat, she looked down at the map that they had drawn. "What of this Teyrn Loghain? Where would he be?"

"More than likely Denerim," Alistair said, marking that on their map as well.

"Then if it were up to me, I would storm the city and take care of my main threat, leaving me to obtain this army at my leisure without having to worry about someone constantly at my back." She punctuated her statement with the tiniest flare of fire pinpointed at Denerim that scorched the mark Alistair had made in the ground.

"Absolutely, because Loghain would _never_ see _that_ coming. I mean, he's only Ferelden's greatest general; he just earned that title without any sort of tactical knowledge or anything."

"Alistair…"

"She asked for my opinion and I gave it," Morrigan told him tersely, crossing her arms. "If you would like to list the reasons why things could not be done, we're likely to still be standing here just in time to welcome the darkspawn horde."

"What do you think we should do?" Alistair asked Moira again, standing up.

Moira stood as well. "Why do I get the feeling that you're looking to me for leadership?" she asked warily.

"Yes, tell us. Aren't you supposed to be the senior Warden? Doesn't that technically make you the Commander now? Why defer to someone less experienced than you?"

Alistair's brow furrowed. "I don't _want_ a leadership role, is that so difficult to understand?" He turned his head and addressed Moira. "Besides, you're a noblewoman; you _know_ the rules and regulations. I'm not naïve – I know that we're going to have a bigger fight on our hands besides just the darkspawn. Loghain is beloved by most of the people in Ferelden. His daughter is Queen. Those bandits said that we were the ones to kill Cailan. We've only been gone for a few days; what other lies has he already spread about us? I spent most of my life away from politics, but you've been around them since you were born. It's only natural that you take the lead."

"Perhaps he's not so dumb after all," Morrigan mused loud enough for them both to hear. "It would be a refreshing change from what I've witnessed so far."

"I'm going out on a limb and regarding that as a compliment," Alistair grumbled, turning his back to Morrigan. "So, what do you say? Be our fearless leader?"

Moira took a breath. "I don't know about fearless, but I'll do my best, if that's what you really want." She regarded the map. "I agree with you. Eamon would be our best bet to approach first. On a political standpoint, besides Loghain and my father, he has the most political influence amongst the nobles in the Landsmeet. If we have him on our side, then we stand a better chance at dispelling all the lies that Loghain is bound to have spun against us. What I would like to do is look for my brother while we are still south, but I know that the Wilds are expansive and…" she looked away. "And there is a chance that he is not alive. Without knowing his fate, I am officially Teyrna of Highever, and I can put whatever pull that title still gives me towards our cause."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let us head to this Eamon as quickly as possible and then be on our way to the next group." Morrigan walked off towards the camp, ignoring her other companions. Quinn looked behind his shoulder at Moira before bounding off after the witch.

"Looks like your dog decided on a new mistress," Alistair observed.

"No, he just really likes her. That tells me that no matter how horrid her manners are or how much she insults you that she's a good person deep down."

"Yeah, deep, _deep_ down, I bet. You know, underneath all those layers of Mean, Sarcastic Witch that she's got built up. I'm sure she's just a real sweetheart once we get to know her."

She looked at him as they began to walk towards the front gates. "I know that you don't like having her here with us, but we do need her help. Why else would Flemeth ask us to take her with us if she wasn't going to be of some great use to us later on?"

"I don't know. Maybe her mother just wanted her out of her hair."

Moira sighed. "All I'm asking is that you two don't kill the other before we can take on the archdemon. You chose me as leader, and as such I will not tolerate two of my most important party members constantly being at the other's throat."

"You really think I'm an important member, or are you just saying that because it's just the four of us?"

"Of course you are. You are my Warden Brother, are you not?" She sobered. "Alistair, I don't know anything about being a Warden except for the very brief things I was taught as a child, and even then, those were more fairy story type legends than actual truths. You've been one longer than I have; I'm going to be looking to you for guidance. And I don't know about you, but while I have some knowledge of poisons, I have zero knowledge of healing herbs. Morrigan seems to know a lot about the subject, so unless you're willing to sit and have me stitch you up every time that you get a scratch, perhaps we should play nice with our healer."

"You're right," he sighed. "I can't give you my word, but I'll _try_ to be civil."

"And that's all I can ask of you. Thank you." They made their way into the city, and both of them couldn't help but notice the fear that was thick in the air. Quinn had seemed to abandon Morrigan in favor of ducking behind Moira's legs, a distressed whine coming from his throat. Morrigan was standing ahead on the dirt road, contemplating the scene in front of her.

"Shall we see if they come to blows?" she asked, gesturing with her chin towards the merchants standing beside a wagon and an elderly woman wearing Chantry robes. "If they do, my money is on the merchants."

Moira stepped forward. "Excuse me," she said, bringing both parties' attention onto her.

"Oh, thank the Maker that someone is here," the Chantry Sister said. "These people are robbing the refugees leaving the city blind."

"We're trying to make a living," the merchant said defensively. "Can't you see that?"

"Yet you got most of those goods here in the city and you're selling them at inflated prices. These refugees are _also_ trying to make a living and you're robbing them of money that they'll need further on down the road."

"It isn't like I'm holding them at swordpoint and demanding that they buy things."

"Please! Fifty silvers for a single poultice?"

Moira cleared her throat. "It does seem as if you're selling things to give yourself an incredible profit," she reasoned.

One of the merchants gave her a slow looking over, starting from her face and working down towards her boots and up again. The leer that he had plastered on his face did nothing to persuade her to side with him. "You're a pretty one," he said. "I've got a few shiny baubles that you might like, for a discounted price, if you know what I mean."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "How many other women have you offered that discount to, I wonder." Looking at the other two merchants with him, she straightened her spine and used her best persuasive voice. "I understand that desperate times call for desperate measures, but would it hurt your business if you offered your wares to these people at a reduced price for the time being? You have already gained such a large profit already; surely lowering your fees will not dip into your coffers any."

"Well…"

Moira clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward. Her armor prevented the merchant from looking down her clothes, but the stance was similar. She was hoping that even though she was bloodstained and armed that she would look innocent and non-threatening enough to convince him. "Think of all the good business you would get from doing so. Word of mouth would spread throughout the town and you'll have more customers than you can possibly deal with." She shuffled a little closer to him, almost as if what she was going to say was for his ears alone. "I'm not saying to drop your prices so low that you'll lose all the profits that you've gained, but at least lower the inflated prices to a point where they're tolerable." She looked at the merchant from underneath her lashes. At this close range, he _could_ see down her armor, so she took the opportunity to take a deep breath to enhance the view.

"When you put it that way, how can I say no?" He tore his eyes away from Moira's chest and looked at the Chantry Sister. "Very well, we'll lower the prices."

"Maker thank you," she said, bowing low at the waist.

"Don't thank the Maker," the merchant said, leering at Moira again. "Thank her."

"Shall we begin solving _everyone_'s problems that we come across?" Morrigan asked once they were back on their way.

Moira could tell that the other woman didn't approve of the distraction, but she shrugged. "You never know what you might get out of it," she said as they came up towards the Chantry. "The next time we help someone, they might have a tidy reward to give as well as their thanks."

"Speaking of rewards," Alistair said, looking at the board that was posted right next to the Chantry wall. "It seems as if there are a few requests up here."

"What is it?" Moira asked.

"This is a Chanter's Board. Surely Highever has one of these?"

"I don't know. We had our own chapel; we rarely went down to the Chantry in town for services except on holidays." Her mind went towards Highever's Chantry. She could clearly smell the strong scent of beeswax candles burning and the heady incense that Mother Mallol had often waved in the air at various parts of the service. The winter service was Moira's personal favorite; the entire building would be decked out with evergreens and berries, the scent of pine boughs mingling with the candles. When they were younger, Fergus would often fidget at Moira's side, tired of sitting still for so long even if he was three years older than she. Services at the Chantry were the only times that it seemed as if Moira had sat completely still; she had been an active child just like her brother, but she had been so enchanted with the way that the choir had sung songs and the reverent way that her mother and father would recite prayers alongside the Revered Mother that it had felt _wrong_ to misbehave in such a sacred place. "I never paid attention to anything outside."

"These boards are places where the people living in the town can post up requests for others to fill. Sometimes they can be as mundane as '_I need someone to weed my garden' _or _'There will be a reward for helping harvest grain this season'_ to something bigger, such as solving a riddle as to who keeps on stealing the bakery's freshly made bread every morning or more importantly, someone requesting help getting rid of bandits along a bridge."

She eyed him. "So you're saying that there might be a bigger reward for what we just did?"

"Perhaps. Sometimes it's best to ask inside the Chantry. Since we're going in there anyway, I don't see how it would hurt."

"You do realize that we're persona non grata here, especially with the way that Loghain is spreading rumors about us, right?"

"Which is why we need to go to the Revered Mother first. If we explain to her what is going on, then she can give us asylum." Alistair scratched at his chin. "Those bandits said that the leaders had already fled the city. Who else besides the Bann, Arl, or Teyrn holds the most power in a city?"

Moira seemed to understand what he was saying. "The Chantry. No one wants to displease them, for it could be seen as displeasing the Maker Himself. They do have a big influence in the city's dealings." She could recall her father having several meetings with Highever's Revered Mother each year, often taking the time to visit her in the Chantry instead of requesting her presence in the castle. Bryce had a good relationship with them, which meant that they had a good relationship with him in turn. If he did send down an edict that was a little difficult to take in, like the time that he had been forced to raise taxes to cover the charge of bringing in grain from the Bannorn when Highever had a poor season, the Chantry took his side and reasoned more with the people to the point where any sort of discourse that might have struck up otherwise was quickly soothed.

"Exactly. And now that we're on the Naughty Warden List, we want as many powerful people on our side as we can possibly get."

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you certain that you don't want to be leader? You're proving to be pretty good with decision makings."

He threw his hands up in front of him. "Oh no, you go right ahead. I'm more than happy being the lowly lackey, ready to do your bidding."

"Perhaps not lackey. How does second in command sound?"

He stood up straighter. "That sounds agreeable to me. Mind you, I might have made one good suggestion, but I'm more than likely going to make a hundred bad ones to counter it."

Moira frowned, wondering why he was badmouthing himself as a way to cover his cleverness. She knew that they didn't have any time to go into it right now, but she put it in the back of her head to address it if the trend continued. Her father had taught her how to run a teyrnir, and one of the first things that he had taught her and her brother was how to recognize useful people around them. Alistair was beginning to look incredibly useful, but not if he continued to hide the other talents he had besides being good on the battlefield away from her. Walking ahead, she almost ran into another refugee.

"Maker, make him stop," the man complained, holding one hand over his ear.

"What's going on?" Moira asked, standing on tiptoe to look around the growing crowd of people.

"One of those blasted Chasind folk are out there screaming their head off. It's enough to drive one mad, I say."

"Don't look at me, I've been perfectly silent," Morrigan said, leaning against the wall. "Let me guess, you're going to try to play nice with everyone, aren't you?"

"If it lets us go into the Chantry without getting a headache in the process, then yes." She wove her way through the crowd until she was in the center of the circle. A man dressed in tattered armor stood there, screaming.

"There is no escape! They will kill us all in our beds!"

"You there," Moira said, trying to project her voice over the man's panicked rambling. "What seems to be the problem?"

"The problem?" The man yelled, walking up to her. Moira winced. _I would hope that he has another level for his voice besides Loud and Obnoxious, but I guess not,_ she winced again, trying not to shake her head to ward off the ringing in her ears. "The problem is that the darkspawn are coming and there is nothing we can do to save ourselves!"

"Surely you don't believe that. We can fight back."

"No, there is no fighting! There is no hope! We are doomed!"

"Okay, I've had about all I can take of being reasonable." Reaching out, Moira grabbed the man's cuirass and hauled him down a few inches until he was eye level with her. She was not a short person by any means, but the man towered over her otherwise. "Listen to me," she hissed, pointing with her free hand at the people gathered around them. "These people are afraid and worried just as you are. What help are you offering by screaming at the top of your lungs like a crazed person?" She looked at the children who were clinging onto their parent's legs. "You say that there is no hope, but you are wrong."

"Are you calling me crazy?"

_Trust him to latch onto the one thing I said that was pointless._ "If you continue to act this way, then yes. Only cowards decide to spread fear instead of doing whatever they can to help calm the situation." She let go of the man's armor and shoved him away from her. "What are you, a coward or a rational person? The choice isn't mine to make; you must make it yourself."

He blinked and looked at her. "I…I have shamed myself." He didn't say anything else, but he did shove his way through the crowd to disappear into the masses.

"I thought he would never leave," a Templar said. "We were about to have to use force."

"Do you really mean what you said?" another man asked, addressing Moira. "Is there hope?"

She nodded. "There is hope as long as there is life left in us, is there not? Is anyone making you stay here to wait out the darkspawn?"

He squared his shoulders. "No, there isn't."

"Then why haven't more of you left and headed north? Surely there are more people in the cities north of here; if we all band together, we can create militias that can defend the others." Moira turned around and addressed the people. "Think of your wives, of your children. Do you want to keep them here where they shall surely be slaughtered just as that man said they would or would you rather give them a chance to survive elsewhere? Your leaders have already left; pull up stakes and follow them."

"We _can _fight!" someone said from the crowd.

"I have family in Denerim, surely the city can take more of us in," someone else cried.

"Thank you, stranger," the Templar told her. "We've been trying our best to aid those that have fled here, but everyone has been frozen in fear, unable to know what to do next. Hearing a fellow refugee say what we've been trying to tell them seems to have started to work."

"Is it true that their leaders have fled?"

"Abandoned, more like. They ran off to Denerim at the first sight of darkspawn in the south, long before the big battle that we could hear all the way from here began. Where do you hail from?"

"We were closer to that battle. It didn't go well, and I would suggest getting everyone out of the town before the horde makes its way here."

He nodded. "I shall tell Ser Bryant directly. He has taken control of the town in the other's absence and he will listen to this news."

"We might want to talk to this Ser Bryant ourselves," Alistair said. "If he's in charge, he'd be the best person besides the Revered Mother to go to."

"You're right." She pulled out the dead Templar's necklace from her pocket. "Before you go, do you recognize this at all?"

The Templar shook his head. "No, does it belong to someone here?"

"Apparently not. We found it on the body of another Templar at the main bridge."

The Templar's expression turned weary. "Those damned bandits have escalated to killing innocent people! Something must be done about them!"

"Something has been done. They shouldn't bother anyone any longer."

"What, did you and your companions deal with them?"

"They're dead, if that's what you mean by dealing with them."

The Templar bowed to them. "Andraste rain blessings upon you. Those people were a scourge to the refugees attempting to enter the town. Scum like that shall not be missed." He opened the main door to the Chantry and gestured for them to enter. "Ser Bryant will definitely hear any case that you have to present to him in reward for this news."

"I don't like this," Morrigan said, looking shiftily at the Templars who were inside the chapel. Her hands clenched at her sides and she flinched when Quinn stood by her and gave her a whimpering noise meant to soothe her nerves.

"I know, but it's the only way that we're going to get out of here alive. Besides, if we have the Chantry dispel these lies, the refugees fleeing will spread that news. Alistair was right; the church has more power than a Teyrn and is easier believed than one, even if that Teyrn is one of Ferelden's great heroes." The scent of incense was strong, but instead of being used in a ceremony, it was being used to mask the odor of many unwashed bodies in a single place. Moira watched as the Templar from outside went towards another, who she assumed was Ser Bryant. She was about to go towards him, but Alistair put a hand on her arm.

"Ser Donall?" he asked, stepping to the side where a lone knight was standing next to a niche that held prayer candles.

The man turned and squinted, as if he were trying to place where he had seen Alistair before. "Alistair? Is that you? Maker, I haven't seen you in years!" He reached out and grabbed onto Alistair's offered hand, his own hand clasping Alistair's forearm. "When I heard what had happened in Ostagar, I feared the worst for you."

"How did you know that I was there?"

Ser Donall let go of his hand. "Arl Eamon informed us of your whereabouts. He keeps tabs on you, you know."

Alistair frowned. "I don't know why he bothers," he said shortly, crossing his arms over his armored chest. "Why are you here this far south if you weren't sent to Ostagar?"

"You haven't heard? The Arl is deathly ill and we have been sent out all over Ferelden in order to find clues to help him regain his health."

Alistair's previously stony expression dropped instantly. "He is ill? What happened?"

Donall shrugged. "No one knows. All we know is that he had been poisoned by a mage that the Arlessa took in off the road. That mage is currently in Redcliffe's dungeons and he refuses to say anything as to what might reverse the process. The Arl is not responding to any sort of medical treatment and his condition worsens every day that we are gone."

"What can be done for him?"

"The Arlessa has sent us out to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes. One pinch of them is reputed to cure any ill." He looked away towards the prayer candles. "I was here awaiting news from a Templar who said that he had some information for me that might prove useful."

Moira pulled out the necklace again. "Do you recognize this?"

"Yes, I do! This belongs to the man that I was waiting for, did…" His shoulders slumped in disappointment. "If you have this, then that means he is dead. Damn it all, but it seems as if this quest that I've been sent on is nothing but a fool's errand."

"It must be," Morrigan piped up. "The ashes of Andraste are nothing but a myth. If there really was a spot where this mystical relic lay, surely you would think that someone would have found it by now."

Donall looked at her. "Sometimes things of this nature must be believed in order for them to be revealed to us. Andraste's ashes only appear to those who are noble in heart, it is told, and can only be used for good."

"Curing the Arl is a worthy cause," Moira agreed. "We are headed towards Redcliffe ourselves. Once we get there, we shall see what we can do to help heal the Arl."

"You are too kind," Donall said. "Redcliffe needs more people like yourself."

"Is the army still there, or have they all gone off searching for the Ashes?" Alistair asked.

"No, only the Arl's personal knights have left the city. We have left the rest of the army there to defend it against the darkspawn that will surely arrive sooner or later."

"That was a wise decision."

"Yes, it was. Bann Teagan has taken over the arling while his brother is ill. He is a good man, and a strong leader."

Moira couldn't help the blush that rose to her cheeks. She remembered a time when she had been a teenager that she had harbored a secret crush on the older Bann. As it was, she was certain that he wouldn't even remember her when they did meet again; he rarely had any reason to stop and talk to her the few times that he had been in Highever when she had been a girl and Moira hadn't seen him in person in years. "I've heard word that he is," she said, turning back towards the Templar who was standing next to Ser Bryant. Both of them were looking at them, which Moira noticed made Morrigan tense even further. "As soon as our business is completed here, we shall be off to Redcliffe. I hope that we can offer some sort of help."

Ser Donall bowed. "Thank you, my lady." He looked her straight in the eye and said, "I don't believe a single word that was said of the Wardens. There's no way that they would have left our king to die out there. The Teyrn was not one to usually spread rumors, which makes me feel like he's desperate for allies these days."

"Thank you. It helps to know that at least some people are on our side."

"You have more people than just me in your corner. Once the Arl is well, he will lend you as much aid as Redcliffe is capable of giving. He and Bann Teagan don't believe the lies that have spread about _you_ either."

She looked at him curiously. "What lies?"

He gave her a sympathetic look. "Arl Howe has been spreading the rumor that your father sold valuable secrets to the Orlesians. He's been labeling him and the rest of your family traitors, saying that had he not stopped them when he had, then Ferelden would have been vulnerable to attack from foreigners."

Moira drew in a sharp breath. "My father was no traitor," she seethed, her hands clenched into fists and her voice low. "If anyone is, it is Howe. I swear, I'm going to cut that man's lying tongue out of his head myself."

"You have allies, my lady," he repeated. "Teyrn Cousland was a good and decent man. There are many who do not believe anything that bastard says, especially the people of Highever. Many people have fled their homes in fear that they shall end up like the people of Amaranthine."

Moira wanted to ask what was going on in Amaranthine, but she decided against it. If anything, she would learn about whatever evil Rendon had turned onto his very own people later when they reached Redcliffe. She gave a low bow to show Ser Donall how grateful she was for his information before walking towards Ser Bryant.

"I've heard word that you four are responsible for ridding us of our bandit threat," he said, looking at them dubiously. His eyes stayed longest on Morrigan, who was standing up as straight as she could with her shoulders thrown back, her own pale eyes boring into his as if daring him to look away first. From the corner of Moira's eye, it almost seemed as if the feathers adorning Morrigan's left shoulder flared and ruffled out on their own accord.

"That would be correct," she said, moving a little to the right to break the staring contest between apostate and Templar. "They attacked us at the bridge and we had no other option but to fight them. I apologize for leaving such a mess at the gates of your town."

He gave her an odd look. "We've been trying to rid ourselves of them for days. They were getting so bad that I feared we would have to use force to get rid of them once and for all. You've done us all a great favor; thank you." He tilted his head. "And I hear that you've also convinced many of our refugees to move further north. It is certainly not safe here and I fear that should we stay any longer than we already have then we shall have a massacre on our hands whenever those…_creatures_ come across the town."

"We haven't seen any sign of darkspawn yet," Alistair said from Moira's left, "but that doesn't mean that they won't hit this town. Everything north of Ostagar is fair game to them."

"Then we shall double our efforts of evacuating the city. Truthfully, there aren't that many people left. Many have fled north to Denerim and into the Bannorn. Only those too afraid to move onward or those too stubborn to budge remain." He pulled out a pouch that jingled with the sound of coins. "I know that this is not much, but it is the amount posted for helping with the bandits."

"Thank you." Moira put the money inside her own belt pouch. "I was wondering if you could give us just a little more assistance." Bryant looked to be a good man and Moira recognized that while the Revered Mother was more than likely the main power here in Lothering, Ser Bryant was the one that people looked towards for leadership. It would be good to have him on their side.

"Anything."

"I suppose that you have heard rumors flying around about the Grey Wardens," she began. She couldn't help but notice that Alistair tensed ever so slightly beside her, almost as if he feared an attack. Quinn panted happily next to Moira's feet, but he seemed to sense his discomfort because he stood up from where he had been sitting and butted his head against Alistair's left hand.

"I have. And I wish to tell you that I personally believe that those rumors are false. You are Wardens, are you not?" He pitched the last bit as low as he could. "There are many still here that do not share my beliefs. Lay low, but know that the Revered Mother shares my opinion. Go to her and she will say more about the subject. I can't openly aid you, but take this."

"What does it go to?" Moira asked, closing her fingers over the brass key that Bryant put into her palm.

"It goes to the closet to the far right of the altar. There's a surplus of weapons and armor that we're going to be forced to leave behind in favor of carrying out food for everyone. It would serve you better than it would just by staying where it currently is."

Moira thanked him again before the four of them headed towards the Revered Mother's office. "I know why you are here, travelers," the woman said, sitting in a chair at the end of the room.

"Your Reverence," Moira said, dipping into the lowest curtsey that she was capable of as a show of respect. While she wasn't incredibly devout – what she had been doing for the past two weeks was anything but following scripture to the letter, especially the whole _do not kill_ portion – she was highly aware that Bryant had said they already had the Chantry's support. She wasn't about to do anything to change that.

"Rise, my child." The Revered Mother stood herself and went towards them. "You seek our aid, do you not?"

"We do."

"I cannot openly give much, but I have sent word amongst the refugees that have already gone ahead. You shall be offered a safe refuge within any Chantry in Ferelden. People are loath to believe the Hero of River Dane capable of quitting the field to allow his king and fellow countrymen to die, and it is easy to place the Grey Wardens in the role of scapegoat. There are not many left in Ferelden now, are there?"

"We are the only two who remain, Your Reverence," Alistair answered.

"Then it shall be hard on you to fight against your detractors. I have done all that I can on my end, the rest is up to you."

"We thank you for everything," Moira said, bowing again.

"I wish you all luck on your journey. May the Maker and Andraste herself protect you."


	6. Chapter 6

"That didn't get us anywhere," Morrigan complained once they were out of the chapel and back onto the street. "All it did was give me a tremendous headache from all the incense they were using and wasted a good deal of our time."

"It also proved that there are people that are willing to doubt Loghain. It might not be much, but it's a crack in his defense that we can work on widening." Moira looked to the bridge, where a little boy was standing and looking worried.

"Have you seen my mother?" he was asking anyone who happened to be close by. If anyone heard him, all they did was shake their heads or ignore him completely.

"What does your mother look like?" Moira asked, crouching down to his eye level.

The little boy gulped. "Mama said not to talk to strangers."

There was something in the boy's voice that reminded Moira sharply of her nephew. "My name is Moira Cousland and these are my friends. See? Now I'm not a stranger."

"I…" He looked doubtful, but he finally gave in once Quinn came up next to them. "Is that your dog?" he asked, reaching out to pet Quinn's muzzle.

"He is. I'd like to help you find your mother, if you would let me."

He nodded. "Mama and I came here to find a place to hide from the monsters. There were mean men on the bridge. Mama told me to run as fast as I could into town and never look back. I didn't look, but now I've lost her." His eyes misted up with unshed tears and he tried his best to remain stoic.

"Do you remember what she was wearing?"

"She has on a brown and green dress and a gold necklace. Papa gave it to her for her name day." His face fell. "Papa…"

Her heart went out to the little boy. It was apparent that his father was gone as well. "I'll find her, I promise."

"She has red hair, just like me." He looked up at her. "You're a nice lady. You remind me of my Mama."

"Go into the Chantry. When I find her, I'll tell her where to look for you." She brushed her knees off and glanced backwards at Morrigan.

"Oh, don't give me that look," Morrigan said, contemplating the Chanter's Board nearby. "We might as well spend some time doing more good by taking on these requests if you're so set on saving every single abandoned waif we come across. We need the extra money." Without preamble, she tore all the notices down and handed them to Alistair.

Moira hid a smile from the witch as they made their way down the lane. Quinn went off ahead of them and Moira quickly ran after him when she heard a woman scream.

"I'm so sorry!" she said, grabbing onto Quinn's collar. "He usually knows better. Bad dog!"

The woman had her hands clasped at her chest and her eyes were wide. "I'm sorry; I'm just so jumpy these days."

"I don't blame you. I heard that a few people are going to be forming a party to head further north?"

"Yes. I'm planning on being there, but I wanted to secure a few things here in my home before we left." The woman eyed their group. "Would any of you happen to know anything about making traps?"

"I have a little experience," Alistair said. He didn't step forward because it looked as if the woman was most intimidated by him due to his size and bulky armor. "How many did you need made?"

She bit her lip and counted out on her fingers. "Probably not more than four."

"We actually have some materials for making spring traps," Moira said, reaching into her pack. "We're not going to be using them, so I'm glad to give them to you."

"Oh, thank you! I would be grateful for anything that you can give."

"I'm going to be here for a little while," Alistair said, kneeling in the dirt so that he could work on his traps better. "Why don't you leave me here and then come back once you've scouted the area?"

Moira didn't like breaking up the group, but she agreed. It seemed as if they hadn't gotten very far when they were stopped by an elderly woman who asked if they could help out by creating a few health poultices. "That damned merchant is selling them for an arm and a leg," the woman spat, glaring up the road in the direction the merchant's wagon was. "We have a few people that need them and we can't afford any."

Morrigan heaved a dramatic sigh. "We have extra elfroot," she said grudgingly. She sat down on a crate and dug out her mortar and pestle.

"Thank you, Morrigan," Moira said, walking back towards her after wandering the area for a bit.

"If I had any idea that I was going to be put into a group of do-gooders, I would have refused to come along."

"Then I guess you don't want these boots that I found." She held up a pair of good leather boots that were far better than the ones that Morrigan had on.

"Where did you get those?"

Moira shrugged. "There was a chest behind the house next to the river. No one claimed it, so I took what was inside."

She raised an eyebrow. "And it was just out in the open."

"Well…" Moira gave a little shrug. "It was hidden pretty well, and I _did_ have to pick the lock on it to get it to open."

Morrigan handed Moira the finished poultices and took the boots. "I guess I pegged you wrong. You _do_ have a little streak of bad in you." She kicked off her boots and wiggled her feet into her new pair. "I like that."

"What do you expect? I am a rogue, after all. Besides, I've never seen the world in black and white. There are all sorts of shades of grey to explore on any subject."

Morrigan hopped off the crate she had been perched upon. "I think that the two of us might get along far better than I first thought. Knowing this about you makes dealing with all these distracting quests a little more bearable."

"What did I miss?" Alistair asked, coming up to them.

"Nothing much," Moira said. "You ready to take on these bandits?"

It turned out that there were a great number of bandits wandering the plains just north of the town. To make matters worse, those blighted bears that the Chanter's Board had spoken of decided that they were going to pick that day to make their appearance known. It had taken all four of them to take down just one, but the second bear was a little bit weaker. Quinn had that one well under control, but Alistair and Moira still helped him out.

"That is…" Alistair said, watching as Morrigan stood between the two dead bears. They couldn't see just what she was doing, but the air between her hands and the bodies shimmered much like the horizon would have done on a hot summer day. "Different."

"You Templars recharge yourselves with lyrium potions; I recharge myself with energy from my foes. Do you have any complaints?"

"None," Alistair said, walking a little ways ahead. "Death magic, I should have known."

"This going to be a problem with you?" Moira asked, keeping her sword out and her eyes trained on the farmland ahead of them. The first group of bandits had sprung a surprise attack from such a field and she was determined not to be caught off guard again.

"No, no. See? I'm being perfectly civil."

They would have carried the conversation further, but Quinn growled and charged towards a gigantic spider.

"Spiders," Moira groused, slashing through one of the oversized arachnid's legs. "Why did it have to be _spiders_?" She let out a strained shriek from between clenched teeth as her sword pinned one to the dirt, its legs curling in onto itself and green ichor stained her blade.

"Their bite is poisonous," Morrigan said, contemplating one that she had fried with lighting. "Perhaps we could extract a bit of venom for future use."

"If you think you can get any out of each then be my guest." Moira watched as Morrigan knelt and cut away at the flesh close behind the spider's fangs. The witch wrinkled her nose at the smell, but managed to cut out a venom sac and capture its contents into three flasks, humming all the while.

"Cheerful person, isn't she?" Alistair commented, yanking off a large wad of spider web from his chest. He dropped it to the ground, but it stuck to his hand, no matter how hard he shook his fingers. "Takes a lot of pleasure out of her work, she does."

"And do _you_ want to volunteer to be the next one to harvest toxin extracts when we come across any more spiders?" Moira knelt and poured a bit of a healing potion onto Quinn's side where one of the spider legs had cut him. They continued their walk and Moira's heart fell when she saw a body sprawled on the ground that wore a brown and green dress and had bright red hair peeking out from underneath a kerchief. She was about to approach the body when the howl of a wolf sent a chill up her spine. The single howl was soon echoed and what looked to be an entire pack of wolves came up over the rise.

"If the bandits hadn't killed her, then these wolves surely would," Alistair said, bashing a wolf with his shield while slashing at another with his sword.

Moira cried out when a wolf knocked her over, its teeth sinking into her shoulder deep enough that she was certain that she felt them scrape bone. She stabbed it in the eye with her dagger, but couldn't pry its teeth from her shoulder easily. She screamed in pain when she finally freed herself, skin tearing and blood running freely down her arm. The injury made her right arm useless for the time being, so she shifted her main sword to her left, sending up a silent prayer of thanks to Highever's captain for teaching her how to fight with both hands.

"This shall need stitches," Morrigan said, examining the wound once the threat was cleared.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Moira replied, gritting her teeth and looking away as Morrigan began her work.

"And it is likely to scar, no matter how well it heals."

"Scars don't bother me much. I don't think the Blight is going to wind up being a beauty contest, do you?" Even though she said it, she couldn't help but feel sad that the injury was likely to be visible. _Oh, be quiet,_ she chastised herself. _So what if most of the dresses you once wore were off the shoulder? It isn't as if you're going to be wearing Ferelden's latest fashions any time soon, now are you?_

"Still, I'll try to keep my stitches as straight as I can make them." Moira had to admit that Morrigan knew what she was doing; besides an occasional pinprick and a faint tugging sensation, she hardly felt the needle go through her skin. "Thankfully it looks much worse than it actually was. Do you want this, or shall I throw it out?"

"What is it?"

"A tooth from the wolf. It looks as if it broke it when it bit you."

Moira took the offered tooth and put it in her bag with her free hand. "I guess I should count myself lucky that it didn't break into pieces in my shoulder. Then we'd have to dig around for the extra shards."

"You should count yourself lucky that nothing vital was bitten. Just a few more inches and this nice big, blue artery would have been severed." Morrigan applied gauze and stood. "There, that's the best I can do with what we have on hand. Try not to use that arm much until the herbs have a chance to do their job."

Moira thanked her and went to kneel by the body. She knew that they wouldn't be able to transport it with them, but she remembered what the little boy had said about his mother's necklace. She gently unclasped it and tucked the keepsake into her money belt, wondering just how she was going to break the news that his mother was dead and he was an orphan.

Alistair shouted a warning as they encountered the last group of bandits. Moira pressed herself against the dirt of a nearby hill to avoid the archer. Quinn was at her side, doing much the same. The air seemed to grow incredibly still and then crackle, a loud clap of thunder echoing in the distance.

"Stay where you're at," Morrigan cautioned the other three in her group. "At least for a little while longer." On the opposite side of the hill, Moira and Alistair could hear several voices cry out in pain. "Ah, that worked perfectly," Morrigan said, satisfaction tinting her voice.

"What was that?" Moira asked her, kneeling to loot gold out of the dead bandits' pockets.

"That was a tempest spell. I haven't had many opportunities to use it; I'm glad that it went just how I practiced. Just imagine a nasty lightning storm and you'll understand just what it was meant to do. Awful thing to be caught in the middle of while wearing metal armor."

"Moira, can you open this lock?" Alistair asked, kicking at a treasure chest near one of the dead bandits. "It won't budge for me."

Moira took out the pair of lock picking tools that she had taken from Daveth. They were rudimentary at best, but they would work in a pinch. She thought wistfully of her own set, back in Castle Cousland, of its intricate pins and skeleton keys that made it possible for her to open any door or lock. She'd have to try to build her current kit up one way or another to replace the one that she had lost. "There," she said, prying the lock open. It was difficult using only one hand, but she had managed after a brief struggle.

"This is some nice armor," Alistair said, shaking out a piece of splintmail. The red steel was a vast improvement from his current grey steel set and he quickly scrambled to change armor.

"And it fits you well," Moira said, going behind him to hook up a few buckles that he wasn't able to reach by himself. "We're lucky that we won't have to make any major adjustments." She waited until he had fastened the boots that went along with the set before handing him the gauntlets nestled at the bottom of the chest.

"And here's a serviceable sword," Morrigan said, nudging the pommel with her toe to get it out of the dead man's grip. "It seems as if we won't have to waste our money on outfitting you after all."

"Are you always this thrifty or were you planning on arguing if we had gone shopping for me?"

"A lady never tells."

Alistair snorted, but he adjusted his pack and bent to pick up the sword. "Who said anything about you being a lady?" he muttered under his breath, which both Moira and Morrigan didn't hear. He gave the new sword a few experimental slashes before deeming it satisfactory. "Oathkeeper," he said out loud, reading the script engraved on the edge of the blade. "It isn't all that heavy; if you want it, you can have it."

Moira shook her head. "No, you should take it."

"But it's probably better than what you're using."

Moira put a protective hand on the hilt of her sword and shook her head. "No." She gave him a softer look. "I mean, until I can get the hang of fighting with two full sized swords, I'm happy with what I have. This is a family heirloom, much like the shield I'm loaning you."

Alistair seemed to understand what she was saying. "Maker, I'm a fool. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You didn't know." Her eyes went hard and she stared off into the distance. "I won't be satisfied until I kill Rendon Howe with this blade, so I need to stay with something familiar, at least for my main arm." She looked at Alistair as if she were wondering when he would say something to try and talk her out of killing the man who had destroyed her entire family.

He put his hand on her uninjured shoulder instead. "And when the time comes, I'll be there to help you."

She nodded. "And I will be there for you when Loghain is brought to justice."

They were walking back to the town when they spotted something they had missed on their way out before. A large cage was situated right on the town borders and someone was inside. As they neared, they saw that the person inside was massive – the crown of his head nearly reached the top of the cage, and he had his shoulders pulled in as if he had to scrunch them down in order to fit properly. The three of them didn't say a word as they got closer, and Moira thought that the man there was dead, just by the way that he was leaning against the bars perfectly still.

She didn't know what possessed her to get closer, her hands lightly touching the rusting metal, but she jerked back when the man spoke.

"Staring is impolite, though I expected no less from the likes of you." He cracked his eyes open and glared defiantly at them. "I will not perform any tricks, nor will I do anything else for your amusement. Move along." With that, the man closed his eyes again and resumed his still position.

"Looks to be the tall, silent type," Alistair noted.

"That is a Qunari, one of the noblest races. To see one captured thusly is heartbreaking." Morrigan turned to Moira. "I suggest that we release him."

"Now that's a change," Alistair said, eyeing Morrigan suspiciously. "Who are you and what have you done with our apostate?"

"I would also suggest that Alistair take his place," she continued dryly.

"Ah, now that's more like it."

Moira took a few steps back towards the cage. "Excuse me," she said, addressing the Qunari.

"I said before, find your amusement elsewhere. If you wouldn't mind, I would like to continue contemplating my death in peace."

"Did the people of Lothering put you here for a reason?"

"No, I merely wish to be eaten alive by darkspawn because I am bored." The Qunari opened his eyes again. "Why is it that you ask?"

"Because I think that it is awful to leave you here to such a fate when your talents could be used elsewhere."

"What are you proposing?"

"My friends and I are fighting the darkspawn threat. We could use someone like you on our side."

He looked at her speculatively. "You are Grey Wardens? I have heard that they take the task of protecting people from these foul beasts onto themselves."

Moira nodded. "Alistair and I are. We're the only two left in Ferelden, so you can see that we need as much help as we can get."

"Why did they lock you in here anyway?" Alistair asked.

"I slaughtered a farmstead with my bare hands." He didn't seem to be repentant about his actions and the look in his eyes dared Alistair to form his own judgment.

"Well, I can see why they wouldn't be too terribly thrilled to have you out and about on the loose." He turned to Moira. "Even if he does agree to go with us, how are we going to get him out?"

Moira tugged at the lock on the cage, tilting it up towards the light so she could examine it. "I can't pick this," she sighed. "At least not with the tools I have at the moment. If I do try, I'm probably going to do more harm than good. We're going to have to ask the Revered Mother to release him into our custody." She craned her neck up so that she was able to look the prisoner in the eye. "If we release you, will you lend us your aid in fighting the Blight?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Then we'll be right back as soon as we pay the Revered Mother another visit." Moira took off down the path leading back into town and ran a hand through her hair. She grimaced; the braid that she had attempted to wind around her head from either temple was ratty and disheveled. She was covered in dirt, spider webs and blood, most of which was her own. It was certainly not the look that she thought someone of such importance as the woman they were going to ask this favor from would expect. _Well, it's not like you're going to have an opportunity to bathe with scented oils and put on a silk dress,_ she thought sarcastically. _Mother always taught you that it was the person that dignity and presence radiated from, not what they were wearing. Work with what you have. _At least her arm was better; whatever herbs that Morrigan put in her poultices were doing their job. She didn't want to move it too much just yet, but at least the throbbing pain had dulled down to a dull burn.

"You're back," The Revered Mother said, standing up from her seat. "And looking somewhat worse for wear."

"Forgive us," Moira said, bowing her head. "We have been performing favors for the Chanter's Board."

The Revered Mother's face softened. "Maker bless you. The people have been most anxious to have the other bandits that have been plaguing the farmlands and highways beyond taken care of. We owe you a great debt that can never be repaid."

"Actually, we came back because we were requesting a boon," Moira said, holding herself with as much poise as she possibly could. "There is a Qunari imprisoned on the outskirts of town whose release I would like to respectfully request."

The Revered Mother shook her head. "The prisoner is there because he brutally butchered an entire farmstead."

"I am aware of that, your Reverence. He told us so much himself."

"Then you have spoken to him. Tell me, has he expressed any sort of remorse for his actions yet?"

"No, he has not."

"And you wish to free him? Don't you think that if has no remorse for doing what he did – and there were children among those dead, though I am sure that he neglected to tell you that – what would stop him from killing others as soon as he is free from where he is?"

Alistair stood next to Moira and spoke up. "We are duty bound to fight this Blight, as you well know. Grey Wardens have traditionally taken whatever assistance that they could from wherever they could get it, even if it means conscripting criminals. The Qunari are a…" he searched for a word. "_Hardy_ race," he flinched at the only descriptive that his mind could come up with, "and well known for their strength. We have need of that strength if we are to protect the people of Ferelden."

"I am not easy with putting such a criminal into your hands," the Revered Mother said, looking as if she had already made up her mind to refuse them.

"This is pointless," Morrigan said, rolling her eyes in disgust. "It is obvious that this woman will not listen to us; you should have threatened violence upon her if she did not bend to your will."

_What now, Moira, _she wondered, looking at the Templars who had started to flank closer to the Revered Mother at Morrigan's outburst. Alistair was already making quick apologies while glaring at Morrigan, who looked completely unconcerned that her actions might have lost them a powerful ally. "If you will not put him into Warden hands," she said, stepping forward so that she put herself in front of her companions. "Will you put him into the hands of a Teyrna?"

"I might, but I see no Teyrna here."

She stood up to her full height and gathered whatever class her mother had attempted to infuse into her over the years around her like a protective cloak. "My name is Moira Cousland. My father and mother were recently murdered and my older brother is missing in the Wilds. Even if our lands have been usurped by another, I am still legally recognized as Teyrna of Highever. If I swore to you that no one would come to harm while this Qunari is in my custody, would you release him?"

The Revered Mother regarded her and Moira felt almost as she had when Flemeth had stared at her, as if the woman was trying to discern her character by looking into her eyes and measuring to see if she was lacking in qualities. Moira met the Revered Mother's gaze and refused to blink.

"And if he should lose control, what would you do then?"

"The Maker designates those that shall carry out His divine will," Moira said, quoting scripture. "The guilty shall be punished by whatever means He deems necessary."

"And you are putting yourself in the role of executioner if the situation calls on it?"

Moira nodded. "I would not ask others what I would not do myself."

"And at the end of this, when you do not need his aid any longer, what will you do?"

"I would free him. The Chantry speaks of the Maker's ability to pardon those that have earned His redemption, does it not? By helping us, the Qunari will be saving the lives of thousands."

The Revered Mother pulled out a key from her robes. "I certainly hope that I have not doomed you," she said warily, handing it to Moira. "Maker help you; I pray that I am wrong and this prisoner will be of some use to you."

Moira bowed lower than she had done before, her shoulder aching as she genuflected. "You have my thanks, your Reverence," she said. "We shall be on our way as soon as we gather some supplies. I hope that many here do the same before the horde approaches."

"I have spoken to Ser Bryant. Many are already starting to leave, thanks to your influence. We shall gather the rest of the refugees and leave ourselves before the day is done." She held out her hand to give them her blessing, Alistair and Moira both bowing their heads to receive it. "There is a merchant in the tavern that deals in goods at a much discounted rate than the cutthroat one close to the front gate. Speak my name and he shall give you whatever you require."

"You are most kind, we thank you," Alistair said.

"Now go, and may the Maker watch over you."

"I still say we should have bullied the key out of her," Morrigan grumbled low enough for Alistair not to hear once they were out of the Chantry. "We probably could have gotten it far faster that way."

"Yes, we could have, but then we would have been out of safe places to hide in cities. I know that you don't care for the Chantry, but do you really want to say no to a warm place to sleep and free food for an evening?"

"Well, when you put it that way, I guess not. I merely do not like the idea that they must press their religious beliefs onto unsuspecting passersby."

"Not all Andrastians do such. Have I ever asked you to bow your head and say grace at a meal?"

"We haven't eaten a meal together yet, but I do see where you're coming from." Morrigan looked at her. "I thank you for not foisting anything unwelcome onto me while we're traveling together. I doubt I can say the same for our _other_ companion."

Moira shrugged. "I don't know; he might think that you're a lost cause already and not even bother."

"I can only hope."

They paid the Chanter standing by the board a visit, receiving gold coins for the services rendered. "The boy inside the Chantry, whose mother we went to look for," Moira began, looking up at the Chanter. "Will he be all right, now that he's an orphan?"

"The Maker embraces those that are adrift," the Chanter said, his expression peaceful. "All lost lambs will be welcomed into His flock."

Moira breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I don't even know his name, but if you would, could you make sure that he receives this?" She held out the dead woman's keepsake. "She died so that he could escape and live. He needs to know that she must have loved him very much in order to make such a sacrifice."

"The strong shall protect the meek and champions shall rise up to protect them all." The Chanter looked pointedly at Moira, who gave him a small bow and retreated back to the road where the other three in her group were waiting.

"Well, what do you want to do first? Gather our new companion or get some actual supplies?" Alistair asked. "I don't know about you, but I could use something more substantial than a quarter wheel of cheese and some stale biscuits. At this point, the biscuits are so hard that they can be used as weapons if we're in a pinch."

"I agree," Moira said. "The faster we get things and then get out of here, the faster we can head into Redcliffe."

They entered the tavern – the battered, weather worn sign proclaimed it to be Dane's Refuge – and Moira instantly felt as if they would have been safer wandering onto the Highway and trying their luck with what meager provisions they had.

"Loghain's soldiers," Alistair hissed, hatred making his eyes burn.

"I know. Try not to be too conspicuous, will you?" It was too late though; several of them saw them enter and Moira cursed colorfully under her breath as they approached her group.

"You there," the dark haired soldier said, looking as if he were the cockier one out of his troop. "You two are Grey Wardens."

"And how do you know that?" Alistair said defiantly.

"Because I remember your faces. You spoke with Teyrn Loghain before the battle at Ostagar." The man sneered and spat at their feet. "You have some nerve, showing up here as you have after killing the King."

"We would never have harmed Cailan!" Alistair shouted, his voice loud in the room as everyone suddenly grew silent to watch the tableau unfold. Even the bards upstairs in the loft area were quiet, the lute that one of the men was strumming twanging as he stopped playing mid-chord.

"We don't want any trouble," the man at one of the bars said, looking more to Loghain's men than Moira.

"We don't either," she assured him.

The guard's sneer deepened. "Well, it's too bad that you're not going to get what you want."

"Gentlemen," a soft voice said to Moira's left. She might not know much of the language, but she could clearly make out that the owner was Orlesian. "Can we not settle this dispute peacefully?" Moira saw that the owner of the voice was a woman dressed in Chantry robes.

"Please, don't involve yourself in this," Moira said, trying to keep the collateral damage as little as possible. "This is between these men and us."

"Lying, murdering pig scum," one of the soldiers sneered.

Morrigan bristled, the feathers at her shoulder flaring out again. The observation made Moira absently wonder if the arm ornament was enchanted to react to the wearer's emotions or if it was actually alive. Then she wondered if it wasn't _part_ of Morrigan herself, but she quickly steered her thoughts back to the matter at hand before she got too distracted. "Now, is that any way to talk to a lady?" she asked, easing into a stance that would allow her to quickly attack. Patrons around them were already seeing the inevitable conclusion to their stare-down and were getting up and heading over to the far side of the tavern, many climbing the stairs and jostling for a better position to see the upcoming fight. The man behind the bar bearing bottles of brandy and other spirits had already ducked down behind his protective wooden barrier. "I would turn away now, Sister," Moira cautioned, watching as several of the men drew their swords. She glanced towards Alistair, who looked fit to be tied and shook her head. _We will not be the ones to strike first,_ she thought, hoping that he would get what she was thinking without her having to say it out loud. If they did draw first blood, then it would only further cement themselves as the ones that had done wrong in Ostagar instead of the other way around. _Let them come to us._

They didn't have to wait long. The dark haired soldier gave a mighty cry and lunged at Moira, a move that she was able to easily duck. All of them looked to have warrior training, which was good for Moira. She was able to anticipate their moves much better and her agility made it easy for her to duck and weave her way around them in order to place her own attacks. She tried to blank her mind at the idea that these were actual _people_ that she was striking down by imagining them as practice dummies lined up in her father's barracks. Her shoulder protested as she stabbed at one soldier with her dagger, sharp pain radiating from the bite marks there almost making her drop her dagger at the first clash with blade and armor. _Make your strikes count, Cousland,_ she said, gritting her teeth as she worked to see an opening in the man's armor that she could take advantage of. Alistair fought next to her, his shield helping her out when her arm weakened to the point of her not being able to fend off attacks from the right as well as she would have if she'd been at full strength.

Moira dodged another sword that seemed to come from behind her on her left. She pivoted and blocked another attack, her eyes locking onto the Chantry Sister who had tried to intervene. "I am _trying_ to help you," the woman said. "Look to your right!" Moira spun around again to face the soldiers, moving out of the way of a blade that would have surely done some damage to her had she not heeded the Sister's warning. The Sister was no slouch either; she cried out and sank her short sword into the gap between the soldier's helmet and breastplate, twisting her arm until her blade and a small fountain of blood came out of the soldier's neck.

The stench of burnt hair and ozone filled the air and Morrigan lifted her staff, the tip glowing ominously. Dead bodies partially rose up off the sawdust scattered floor, the same heat shimmer passing through them and going towards Morrigan, fueling her magic. Moira was almost positive that the witch was making a bigger production than what was necessary in order to intimidate their foes, and it was working. The dark haired guard dropped his sword at Moira's feet. "I surrender!" he yelled, dropping to his knees.

"Kill him," Morrigan urged, lightning still crackling around her hands. Her eyes looked to be alight with her magic, making her pale yellow irises look even eerier.

"I agree," Alistair growled, standing so close to Moira that their shoulders touched.

"No, we need him alive." Moira sheathed her weapons and tugged the man to his feet. "We need him to take a message to Loghain and Howe for us." It might not be obvious, but she had her suspicions that the two were working together, especially now that she thought about the way that Loghain hadn't reacted to her family's fate the way that a man who presumably held honor and justice in such high regard should have.

"What would that message be?" the soldier asked, eyes darting over Moira's face, panic written clearly in his eyes as if he was afraid that she would change her mind at the last minute and kill him after all.

"Tell Loghain that if he wants to get rid of us, he's going to have to try a lot harder than this. We know what he did and we will not rest until he is brought to justice. And tell Howe that his days are numbered. House Cousland shall see him dead for what he has done." She let him go, shoving him backwards. The soldier stumbled, but scrambled to gather his remaining two companions and escape out the open door. "Sorry for the mess," Moira mumbled, pulling out a sovereign from her money pouch and sliding it over the bar. She wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand, wrinkling her nose when her skin came back streaked with blood.

"I am glad that you decided to be merciful," the Chantry Sister said, coming over to her side.

"Thank you for your assistance," Moira told her, her eyes scanning the crowd to see if anyone else wanted to start up another fight. So far, the patrons who were there were only talking amongst themselves, seemingly disinterested in the aftermath now that people lay dead on the floor and the victors had been chosen. "We really must be going."

"I know. I wish to join you."

Moira tilted her head. "Didn't you just see what happened?" she asked. "We're Grey Wardens; Teyrn Loghain has unfairly labeled us traitors to the Crown and we're more than likely to meet up with more fights just like this in between battling darkspawn. Why would you ever want to align yourself with that?"

The Sister smiled, her face utterly peaceful. "Because the Maker told me to."

"Riiight," Alistair drawled. "If you happened to notice the floating dead bodies and cackling witch in the background, you'd see that we were full up on crazy."

Morrigan huffed and leaned against her staff. "And if you noticed the hulking lummox clanking around in armor, you'd see that we were full up on idiotic naïveté."

"You're very kind to offer your help, but wouldn't you best serve the Maker's wishes here where people need you?"

The Sister frowned. "And going with you to aid you on your quest will not save people as well?"

Moira crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to refuse." She already had two people fighting with her besides her dog and another waiting to join them; expanding their group would more than likely only bring undue attention towards themselves. She gave the Sister a brief bow to show her thanks and then turned her back on her, focusing her attention at the man behind the bar.

"You're good with a blade," he mentioned, watching as a few of his staff began to drag out bodies. "The name's Barlin. I was wondering if you were good with anything else."

_Maker, if that was a proposition, I'm going to scream,_ Moira thought, leaning against the wood. Her arm hurt and she was tired from the day's events. All she really wanted was to gather some supplies and head out to Redcliffe. Hopefully it would only be a scant few days' worth of walking to get there and then once they arrived that Eamon would grant them an audience. And a bath. With soap. Oh, how she missed soap. "What did you have in mind?" she asked warily.

"Well, you see, I have these traps that I'm setting out for the darkspawn. I won't be here, but I'll be damned if I don't catch at least one and give them some sort of trouble. The claw traps I have are good for catching bears and the like, but I would like something that packed a bigger punch, so to speak." The man leaned towards her and spoke in a low tone. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone who made poisons, would you?"

Moira visibly relaxed. Being asked to mix a poison was something that she could do. "I have some knowledge of poisons," she answered. "What were you thinking of?"

"I need three vials of venom," he said. "I don't know how to make it myself, or else I wouldn't be in this predicament, but I do know how to put them on traps once I have what I need."

"Only three vials?" she asked, already rummaging in her pack. Just as she thought, she had three empty flasks that she knew would work for what she was planning. _You only need a small amount of toxin extract for this, sister,_ Oriana had taught her. _It's quite potent on its own and be very careful not to get it on your hands. Trust me; it takes forever to wash off and stings like fire if you happen to rub your eyes or nose afterwards._ "I will need some room to work, but I can make some for you right now."

"Oh, bless you! Please, use the room to the side right there." He gestured towards a room where servants were busily packing up items into sacks and stacking them by the door.

"Why don't you keep watch?" Moira suggested, addressing Alistair. "I don't want to be surprised if those soldiers come back with any friends."

"Smart idea. Be careful yourself; we don't know who's in that room."

Moira entered the room and began to set up what she needed at an empty counter. Her hands fumbled at the bag and she was surprised when Morrigan took the straps from her shaking fingers.

"You've more than likely broken open several of those stitches," she said crossly. "If you continue thusly, I'm going to have to work harder to patch you up than I'd like. Tell me what needs to be done and I shall mix this for you."

Moira looked at her oddly for a moment, thinking that behind her prickly words, Morrigan actually sounded a bit concerned. _Alistair has her all wrong,_ she thought, looking away before the witch had a chance to catch onto her inner musings. "Take out three flasks and the toxin extract that you gathered from the spiders. All we need to do is pour the small vials into the larger containers."

Morrigan frowned. "Is that it? Surely there must be more to poison making than this."

"Toxin extract is naturally kept in small sacs inside an animal, is it not? It is fine when contained in a small vial like the ones that you collected it in, but reacts with the air around it if placed in anything larger. You'll see what I mean." Moira was glad that Morrigan had offered to help; she wasn't sure if her hands were steady enough to do the job of pouring at all. "After you finish pouring it in, quickly stopper the flask."

"Hm. 'Tis most peculiar," Morrigan commented, watching as the extract sat at the bottom of the vial. Slowly, the air caught in the flask began to mix with the extract, causing green fumes to circle around the glass. The toxin bubbled and liquefied, expanding until it filled the flask about halfway. "And this is ready for use as soon as it is mixed?"

"It is, though it gains some potency if left alone for a few moments. You must be careful though; leave it in the flask for too long and it starts to degrade, especially when exposed to direct sunlight. The longest I've left a crafted poison bottled was a month and at the end, it was almost harmless."

"Most interesting. And you know other recipes as well?"

"A few. I'd be happy to teach you what I know if you'd like."

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "You lie, steal, kill _and_ poison. I'm starting to wonder if your sweet temperament is nothing but a façade for something darker."

Moira hefted her bag back onto her shoulder and took two of the flasks. "I'm starting to wonder that as well." She thought that she knew herself; several weeks ago, she would have never dreamt of doing the things that she was doing. She might have spent half her life learning how to use a sword and six years absorbing knowledge of poisons, but she had never thought that she'd actually be called to use the knowledge that she had gained. She had learned how to pick locks from the stable hands out of sheer boredom and she had continued to do so because it had amused her to be able to sneak around her own home without being detected.

It wasn't as if she _liked_ doing the things that she had done, but when being faced with a person running at her with sword drawn, she had no other choice but to defend herself. And it wasn't as if she were setting herself loose on a bloody rampage or anything similarly mindless. She wasn't killing innocent people just for the fun of it. _This is survival,_ she told herself, walking towards Barlin.

"Now that's what I was talking about!" he exclaimed. "Here, take a bit of silver for your trouble."

She slid the money back towards him and shook her head. "Thank you, but if it is all the same, do you happen to have any food that we could barter for instead?"

He nodded. "Yes. We've got a large stock of dried goods available. Help yourself; it's more than likely going to waste if we can't take everything with us." He jerked his thumb towards the dry goods stocked in the same room they had been in. Morrigan didn't seem to need any other invitation; she took her bag and began choosing things after carefully considering her options, her nails tapping on a jar of some sort of fruit preserves. Moira thanked Barlin and joined Morrigan in the pantry, taking out dried meat and loaves of bread. She glanced at Alistair, who was watching the area intently with Quinn standing beside him. After scanning the shelves, she plucked three large wheels of cheese: one wrapped in paper, another that looked to be some sort of cheddar, and a third that had a hard red wax coating along the rind and stuffed them into her bag.

"This should be enough to keep us until we reach Redcliffe," she said, not wanting to take more than necessary. She knew that they weren't the only people needing food, especially when she caught sight of a maid looking at them and silently measuring just how much food they were taking. Moira felt guilty, especially when she saw the little boy clinging to the maid's skirts.

"Why are you taking that out?" Morrigan asked, watching as Moira took out an extra loaf of bread and a small bag of potatoes. "We could use those."

"As I said, we have more than enough to hold us until we can find somewhere else to buy things from." She gave the little boy a small smile, which he shyly returned before ducking behind his mother's skirts again. Still favoring her hurt arm, she made her way out of the pantry area and back with Alistair.

"I hope you don't mind," he started, looking back at a man sitting in the corner. "But this fellow said that he needed our help. He's with the Blackstone Irregulars. He told me that there's chapters of them all over Ferelden and that they have different tasks set up that need completed. I took the liberty of accepting one."

"We haven't the time for this," Moira quietly said.

"I know, but they are recruiting people to fight to defend villages against the Blight. I thought…" He looked at her, then down at the ground. "I thought that it would be a good idea to have more people on our side."

"No, it is a good idea. I'm sorry; I get grouchy when I'm tired. What do we need to do to help them out?"

"There's a man here in Lothering that needs to receive his notice to join their ranks. They said that he's in the Chantry. It isn't far from here; I can run down there and be back before you know it."

Moira frowned. Breaking up the group wasn't the wisest of plans, but it would be the fastest option. "All right, but take Quinn with you. I don't want any of us wandering out alone." She whistled for her dog, who looked at her for further instructions. "Guard," she ordered, pointing at Alistair. Quinn barked twice and padded towards Alistair, who reached down to scratch at his ear.

"I guess it's just you and me, Boy," he said. "Come on; let's see how fast we can make it back."

"Do you really think that this is wise?" Morrigan asked, crossing her arms.

"No, but it can't hurt our reputation any to be seen as people wanting to help others." Moira told her, taking a seat with her back to a wall. True to his word, Alistair and Quinn were back within moments and they were on their way.

"Do you really want to do this?" Alistair asked, looking at the cage.

"I promised him that I would gain his freedom," Moira replied, taking the key out of her pouch.

"I see that you have returned," the Qunari said, addressing them.

"We have. Do we still have your word that you will help us?"

"You do."

Moira stepped forward and unlocked the cage. Swinging the metal door open, she stood aside as the Qunari turned his large body sideways so that he could get out properly. "Welcome. My name is Moira, and these are my companions," she gestured towards each. "Quinn, Alistair, and Morrigan."

"I am known as Sten."

"Oh, good. I'm glad that he told us his name," Alistair muttered, his hand still hovering over the hilt of his sword. "I was afraid that I was going to have to call him Hey You or Please Don't Eat Me for the duration of our time together."

"Where are we heading? The Blight awaits us."

"Yes, you're right. As you can see, we're only a few people. We're going to need many more if we want to attack the horde head on, so we're going to Redcliffe first to attempt to get the aid of the Arl there. After that, we're going to venture out to other parts of Ferelden and seek aid from others."

Sten looked at her dubiously. It was obvious that he wasn't quite certain that he had wisely put his life in the hands of someone such as she, but then again, she did happen to get a little wordy whenever she was nervous. She'd never been in a leadership position where she hadn't known the people she was leading before; her father might have put her in charge of the teyrnir while he and Fergus were gone, but she had known the people that were to be under her care her entire life. She felt comfortable around them. Here, she was at a complete loss. "And why can we not simply go after the archdemon ourselves instead of wasting time gathering an army?"

Moira shrugged. "We could, but I would rather not become a smear on the ground attempting such a feat with so few people. If we take it on now, we would be utterly defeated within moments." She looked up at him. "Every chess board needs pawns in order to protect their most important pieces, do they not?" She disliked the comparison, but it seemed to ring true for Sten.

"Then let us be to Redcliffe as fast as we are able."

"Wait! Wait for me!"

Alistair groaned. "Oh no, not again."

The Chantry Sister caught up with them, her cheeks pink from running uphill. "Please, let me come with you, I beg you! I can be of great service to you, I know I can!"

Morrigan sneered. "Yes, because we simply must have sermons on the Maker and being good and whatever sort of other 'you must not do' things every single night. How else do you think that you can help us, I wonder."

The Sister looked at her crossly. "As you could see, I am good with a blade. I am even better with a bow. I wasn't always a Lay Sister. Let me use the talents I had picked up before seeking safety in the Chantry to your advantage."

Moira looked at Alistair, who looked back at her. "I don't know," Alistair said. "We _might_ need her. I mean, Morrigan has the sparky shock bit covered for long distance attacks, but we could have use for an archer."

"Weren't you the one who practically said that she was an archdemon short of a Blight back in the tavern?"

He shrugged. "Well, yes, but she's more of the 'oooh, look at the pretty colors' variety than the 'I am Princess Stabbity Stab Kill Kill' type." He glanced at Quinn, who was already snuffling at the Sister's hands in approval. "See? Quinn even likes her. Then again, she _could_ be hiding bacon in her sleeves and he's just trying to get at it, but I think we can safely say that she's harmless to us."

Moira bit at her bottom lip. "Well…I guess if she proves to be more of a hindrance than a help that we could always leave her in the Chantry at Redcliffe."

"And that's why I picked you as leader," Alistair said, smiling. "You're already proving to make good, solid choices."

"I have my doubts as to that," she told him. Turning towards the Sister, who was kneeling down and hugging Quinn – Quinn was eating the attention up too; his eyes closed in bliss and his tail wagging madly – she cleared her throat. "We have decided to let you come along, but," she held up a hand as the woman stood and pressed her hands to her chest, her eyes bright with thanks. "Should we decide that you are a liability, we reserve the right to let you stay in Redcliffe."

"Oh, thank you! I will be of great help to you, I just know it!" Introductions were quickly made and the Chantry Sister revealed that her name was Leliana. They were in the middle of walking towards the path leading out of Lothering when they heard someone cry for help.

"Well, here's your chance to be useful!" Morrigan cheerfully said, summoning a ball of fire in her hand. She lobbed it at the nearest darkspawn before moving onto another.

Moira spared a moment of consideration for Sten, who was unarmed and without any sort of armor on whatsoever. She realized that she didn't have to be worried; he had grabbed onto one of the darkspawn's arms and broken it, catching the creature's weapon as if fell out of its grasp. While the dagger looked like a toothpick in comparison, it still got the job done.

"Emissary!" Leliana yelled, dodging in between blows in order to land a quick attack of her own.

"Blood mage!" Alistair yelled back, energy gathering around him in white waves. Moira hadn't ever seen anything like it, but she was too caught up with her own foe that she couldn't pay any more attention to anyone else. Something bright flashed in the corner of her eye and she heard Alistair yell out and a woman scream at nearly the same time; turning with the darkspawn – it was bigger than the rest and much tougher, so she was calling it an Alpha hurlock in her head – she caught sight of Alistair easing down from whatever attack he had just sent the blood mage's way, his palm stretched out in front of him. She ducked the Alpha's sword and parried with three blows of her own, each causing more damage than the first. Using both of her weapons at the same time, she slashed, feeling flesh give under her blades until the Alpha fell to the ground and moved no more.

"Is everyone all right?" Moira asked, panting as she put her weapons away. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Hurt, as in me," Alistair wheezed, grabbing onto his chest. Blood seeped from underneath his mail and he had more blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His left leg gave out on him and he knelt on the stone. "Pain, as in ow."

"Very clever," Morrigan noted, pulling out several potion flasks and handing them to Moira, who helped Alistair tilt his head backwards so he could swallow. "A weakness hex to soften his defense and then some sort of blood magic to bring old hurts to the surface. I would have never thought of such a combination."

"Don't get any ideas," Alistair said, color gradually returning to his face. He swallowed the second potion and weakly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'll just have to smite you, which in all honesty, won't be such a hardship for me."

"Children, behave." Moira's heart was still thumping against her ribcage and she quietly took stock of her own injuries. Thankfully, she had managed to stay relatively uninjured: the only thing that she knew was that whatever stitches Morrigan had put in her shoulder were all open; the wound was burning again almost as fiercely as it had been when she had first received it. Her eyes flicked over to Sten and Quinn, both of which appeared to be unharmed, then over at Leliana. The woman was kneeling beside the body of the blood mage, her lips moving as she recited a prayer. Moira's eyes softened and she thought that she would have to do some consoling, seeing that this was probably the first time that the Lay Sister had seen a dead body up close, but then Leliana reached into the dead woman's robes and pulled out her money bag. She shook it to see if it contained anything before continuing her search of the body to find something useful. _This ought to be interesting,_ Moira thought, drinking a potion of her own to help soothe her arm.

"Thank ye for arrivin' as soon as ye did," a dwarf said, approaching them. "We could have taken on a few of them, but not the whole lot together as they were."

"You're quite welcome."

"My name's Bodahn Feddic, and this is my son, Sandal. Say hello to the nice lady, boy."

His son smiled at her. "Hello."

Moira nodded. "How do you do?"

"Say, you all look like dangerous folk; my son and I might be traveling in the same direction as you."

Moira shrugged. "Where we're going is pretty complicated."

Bodahn laughed. "When isn't it? Aw, never mind; we wouldn't want to cramp your style anyhow." He flagged his son over. "Come on, lad. We have a lot of things that we need to pick up before we can get going. Tell the nice lady goodbye now."

Sandal gave Moira the same soft smile from before. "Goodbye."

"What strange people," Alistair muttered, standing up and gingerly holding onto his side. Moira let out a breath; at least he was standing, which was a good start. She eyed a crate that didn't look as if it belonged to Bodahn and his son. Sidling on over, she toed open the lid and peeked inside. _There's not much in here save for this little statuette,_ she said to herself, pocketing the item. It might not be much, but she wondered if it would go for a reasonable price in the market. She glanced at the road ahead of them.

"It's now or never," Alistair said, coming up beside her. "Are you ready?"

She stood up straighter. "Yes, I am. We've stayed here too long, let's get to the Arl's home."


	7. Chapter 7

"Ow!" Alistair yelped, wincing as Moira helped him out of his armor.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she softly scolded, unbuckling straps and setting everything neatly aside. In spite of having two injured people, they had made good progress along the road before stopping for the night. Luckily, they hadn't come across anything that would have forced them to fight either. Moira knelt beside Alistair and attempted to help him strip out of his shirt with her one good arm. Morrigan had come over as soon as they had set up camp for the night and forced Moira to sit down long enough for her to get a good look at the damage. Morrigan's lips had thinned out in disapproval when she caught sight of what the leather armor revealed before she dug into her bag of herbs, ordering Moira to begin chewing elfroot.

"_Mash it up well,"_ she had instructed. _"After you get it worked into the consistency of a paste, you're going to spit it out and place it on these bites. They look as if they might get infected otherwise. I don't want to have to waste thread continuously sewing you up after each battle, so this method is going to have to suffice."_

"_And I thought you said that you weren't a healer,"_ Moira had teased.

Morrigan stiffened. _"I am no healer in comparison to my mother, but I do know a bit."_ She had busied herself with folding and unfolding some bandages. _"I know enough to keep you alive; between the two of you, I don't know who is more prone to accidents, Alistair or yourself."_

Moira had held out her hand. _"What I meant to say was that I thank you for everything that you've done. I thought that you were selling yourself short back at your home; you have a large knowledge of potions and healing lore; I don't know what we would have done had you not been a part of our group."_

Morrigan snorted, but looked oddly pleased with herself. _"More than likely died five times over, if not more,"_ she said, winding the bandage over the injury. Moira noticed that she used a lot more care than she had the first time, taking the time to make sure that everything lay flat and wasn't too uncomfortable. Finished with her work, Morrigan had gotten up and retreated to her solitary fire, where she remained now.

"_You_ try having a bunch of old wounds suddenly brought back fresh and then tell me not to be such a baby," Alistair grumped, bringing her back to the present. She winced when the first dark purplish stains of a bruise came into view.

"What did this come from?" she wondered, running her fingers lightly over his skin. There was a portion right over his ribs on his left side that was so bruised that it was almost black. The same sorts of marks were near his collarbone as well.

"I broke three ribs and my collarbone in two places in a fall as a boy. I was playing in the hayloft above the stable when the floor gave way. I should consider myself lucky that all I did was break a few bones and that I didn't fall on top of the area where the stable hands kept their pitchforks."

"How old were you?"

"Nine." He glanced down at her hands where she was spreading out a thin layer of red healing paste onto the bruises. "It was before I was sent to live in the Chantry."

"So you're an orphan?" she asked.

"You could say that, yes."

"Where are you from, originally?"

"Actually, I spent the first ten years of my life in Redcliffe. So I guess that this is going to be something of a homecoming of sorts." He could see that she was going to ask him something else, and honestly, he wasn't quite ready to answer what she had in mind just yet. Thoughts were jumbled up in his head and he knew that there was something important to tell her before they reached their destination, but he didn't know _how_ to say it in a way that didn't make him look like a bumbling fool. He was used to looking like a fool at times, but what he had to tell her had to be said _right_.

Besides, he dreaded the idea that she would think of him as an idiot.

"Hey, that tickles," he said, squirming out of the way as she gently spread the paste over his ribs. He couldn't stop his cheeks from blushing as his fingers brushed against hers when he took the jar of ointment out of her hands. "I can get the rest from here."

"Broken bones do hurt," she told him. "I broke my leg when I was a girl."

"Oh? And how did that happen? Surely not from falling out of a hayloft."

She laughed. "No, not quite, although it was close. I was playing with some friends in the woods surrounding the castle and I fell out of a tree." She had been eleven at the time; she, Fergus and Nathaniel were in the middle of an intense game of Black Fox and she had climbed the tallest tree she could find to act as their base of operations, much like the folk stories that she had heard said that the real Black Fox had used. She had been careless; the branch that she had stood upon hadn't been strong enough to hold her own weight and had snapped under her, sending her flying face first several feet below. Fergus had been panicked – he had spent the entire trip back shifting between worry that he would be blamed because he was the oldest and therefore responsible for her and frightened out of his mind at the sight of bone sticking out of his little sister's leg.

Nathaniel had been much calmer. He had picked Moira up and taken over the duty of carrying her back to the castle, quietly talking to her in order to keep her mind off of her pain until they could get her to a healer. She smiled fondly, remembering that it was only _after _her leg was encased in plaster and she was safely resting that he had gone to pieces, sitting beside her bed and making her promise that if she was going to do something as foolish as that ever again that she would check to see if it was safe first. She had been so woozy from the painkillers that Nan had given her that she had agreed and the two of them had spent the rest of the day in her room, Moira laying in bed with her foot propped up on a mountain of pillows while Nathaniel dragged a chair to her bedside and read aloud from her favorite storybook until she fell asleep.

She grinned; as soon as her leg had healed, she had gone off running barefoot through the trees, intent on climbing the same one that had sent her homebound just to prove to herself that she wouldn't be beaten by a dumb old tree.

"I didn't think ladies actually knew how to climb trees," Alistair said, noticing the way that Moira's eyes had softened at whatever memory she was thinking of.

"Oh, we know a wide variety of things," Moira said, plucking his shirt off the ground and inspecting a large tear at the sleeve. "For example, I might be a novice darkspawn slayer, but I do know my way around an embroidery needle." She shoved her hand through the tear and waggled her fingers. "If you have needle and thread, I can fix this for you before it gets too dark."

Alistair dug through his pack until he found the required tools. "You sound like you were a little tomboy when you were younger, though I guess it shouldn't surprise me. When I first saw you, I thought…" he stopped. "Never mind."

"No, I want to know." She threaded the needle and began to sew, her stitches small and delicate. It would take a lot of thread, but the end product would look as if it hadn't even been torn in the first place. "What was your first impression of me?"

"It's not my _first_ impression of you, but I had feared that you would have been like the other nobles I grew up watching, especially the noblewomen." He waved his hand around and grabbed a piece of his armor so that he could start cleaning it. "You know, prissy to a fault and more worried about the state of their hair than other important things."

Moira laughed and touched the ends of her hair with her hand. "You don't have to worry about the state of my hair; I know that it looks a burnt mess."

"Whatever happened to it?"

"I had it in a braid when the castle was attacked and a mage threw a fireball at me. I ducked, my hair didn't." She touched the ends again. "All in all, it's a small price to pay for avoiding getting injured. Hair is just that. It will grow back eventually."

"I have shears in my kit," he offered. "If you'd like, I can trim it for you." He shrugged at her questioning glance. "We Templars had to cut our own hair. I tend to have a minor obsession with mine, so I always make sure that it looks its best." He gave her a wicked smile. "I promise not to cut too much off or give you an absurd style, if that's what you were worried about."

She thought it over. While her hair no longer smelled burnt, it was still crunchy in places and uneven with others. Besides, they were going to see Eamon soon. He was a family friend, but it didn't hurt to look her best to try to impress him. "All right. Do your worst, and by that I mean don't shave me bald."

"I wouldn't dream of it, my lady." He set his armor aside and sat down behind Moira. His fingers carefully undid the tangled knot of a braid she had worked around her head. "You don't happen to have a comb handy, do you?" She dug in her bag and wordlessly handed him one that she had purchased in Lothering. He got to work, silently working out snarls and knots.

"This must seem strange to you to have a man cut your hair," he said, starting to snip away at the burnt edges. He had to take a lot off from the back to get it to even out with the sides and he moved over when Quinn loped up to them to investigate, his nose sniffing at the discarded wads of hair next to his mistress.

"No," she said. "Actually, the last time I had my hair cut, a man was the one to do it." She smiled. "My father and I were touring the countryside when I was a girl and he allowed me to get a piece of candy from a shop in Highever. I don't recall what it was called, but it was extremely sticky. Somehow it got into my hair and no matter what we tried, we couldn't get it out." She laughed. "Mother was more upset about it than I was and Father refused to let anyone else cut my hair, saying that it was his fault that it had happened in the first place. He wasn't very good with scissors, I'm afraid, and I wound up with a very short cap of curls that barely went over my ears as a result." She smoothed her finished needlework with her hands. "I hadn't thought of that in years."

Alistair frowned. "And now I've gone and made you sad."

"No, quite the opposite. Papa…" she swallowed hard. "Papa and I had many little adventures of that sort and they're all happy memories."

"I wish that I had known my father. You seemed to have a good relationship with yours."

"I loved him very much. I still do." She was ashamed to realize that while she mourned the death of her mother, sister-in-law, and nephew deeply, the loss of her father cut through her the worst. "And that is why Rendon Howe will meet his end by my sword and my sword alone."

Alistair worked his way around until he was sitting in front of her. He hadn't known her for very long, but he knew her long enough to surmise that the cold, flat look in her eye was something new for her and he wanted to try his best to make certain that it didn't become a permanent feature. "They will be avenged," he said quietly, leaning back to check his work. "And now you look a little better. I mean, you looked fine before, but…"

She let her mouth quirk upwards into a small smile, knowing that he was trying to take her mind off of things that she couldn't change at the moment. _Thank goodness there's someone out here that can do that,_ she thought, putting her hand to the ends of her hair. It was shorter than what she had done; the tips hardly brushed her shoulders at all now. "What do you think?"

She shook her head, feeling little pieces of cut hair slip down underneath the collar of her shirt. "My head feels lighter," she said. "I'm sure that it is an improvement to my hacked job."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it a hack job."

"I literally sawed at my hair with my dagger, Alistair."

"Ah. Then yes, I would call it that." He took his shirt from her, thanking her for doing such a fine job on the repairs. "Better watch it, or else I might recruit you to darn my socks next."

She laughed. "I am but a humble servant, my lord. I shall be happy to mend your socks, granted that they're washed first." She yawned, the day's events finally catching up to her. "We'd better get some sleep," she said. "I think that the three of them have watch duty worked out, but I still want to help if I can." She stood and went over to her bedroll. It would have been nicer if they had purchased tents, but they hadn't had the extra money to spare after buying Sten and Leliana suitable armor. Bodahn Feddic was right about traveling in the same direction. He and his son had caught up with them a little ways after they had parted Lothering and it only seemed right that she extend an invitation to share a campsite. Much of his goods were a bit too expensive for Moira's taste even with the so called discount he gave them for allowing he and his son to enjoy the relative safety of their camp, but what interested Moira the most was Sandal's ability to enchant items. They didn't have any runestones at the moment, but it was a good thing to know that they could get whatever gear they had enchanted should they ever run into any.

Moira stretched out on the thin blanket spread out on the ground and pillowed her hands under her chin. Quinn came down to curl up next to her in his customary position behind her back, his head resting on the curve of her hip. She tugged the portion of cloak that he wasn't laying on closer about her to ward off the nighttime chill and allowed sleep to claim her.

Alistair watched across the fire as Moira thrashed about in her sleep. She had rolled to her back, her head moving from side to side as she mumbled something. Then all at once, she sat up, her eyes wide and her breath coming out in harsh gasps.

"So you saw it too?" He had woken from a similar nightmare only moments before and he was still shaken. It didn't matter how often they occurred, seeing the archdemon in his dreams still filled him with the same sort of fear that left him rooted to the spot, unable to protect himself.

"What was that? I've never had a dream that vivid."

"Actually, it wasn't a dream. Well, it was, but not. We have a connection to the darkspawn. We can sense them and to an extent, they can sense us. As far as I know, they don't share the same sort of everyday dreams that we have, but then again, I've never gone up to an ogre and asked if it too was frightened of making a speech in public only to realize that they were wearing only their smallclothes."

Despite herself, Moira giggled. She pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs. "So, when we dream about them, we're actually sensing them in our sleep?"

"That about sums it up, yes."

"What was the dragon? I've had dreams of it before, when I took the Joining."

"That would be the archdemon. Many older Wardens say that they've actually gotten the hang of listening to its song, that they could understand what it was saying. I've never done it and frankly, I don't wish to."

She stood and went to sit next to him. Quinn was still sound asleep on her blanket and she didn't want to wake him. The nightmare, or whatever it had been, had left her cold and craving some sort of contact. "So, we have tingly Warden Senses and dream of archdemons. Any other nifty talents that I should expect to pick up?"

Alistair shrugged. "Well, there's an increased appetite for one."

She frowned. "Huh. I haven't experienced that?"

He laughed. "Are you sure? I was afraid that you were going to inhale your meal tonight at supper, plate and all."

She sniffed. "Healing must take a lot out of me. I'm not usually that hungry." As if to prove her a liar, her stomach growled loudly just then, making her jump.

"Absolutely. And then there's…"

"There's what?"

He looked away. "I don't know how to break this to you, so I'm just going to come out and say it. Being a Warden and living with the Taint in our bloodstream means that we have a shortened lifespan. The bright side to this is that we'll never have to worry about dying old and decrepit." Moira blinked at him. "Well? Say something."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "How shortened of a lifespan are we talking about here? I mean, are we going to drop dead at any given moment?"

He held out his hands. "No, nothing as drastic as that. We have roughly thirty years, give or take a few. Some Wardens have been known to live well into their sixties or early seventies, depending on how old they were when they underwent their Joining. And we get warning signs too; the nightmares increase and we start to feel a certain pull that draws us to Orzammar."

"Why there?"

"The entrance to the Deep Roads is there. It's a tradition for Wardens who have heard their Calling to go there for one last battle. The dwarves grant us passage through their city out of respect for what we do."

Moira sat back and tried to absorb all that information. "So basically I'm going to be around for thirty more years; that is if I don't get killed by darkspawn or bandits or anything else before then, and then I have to travel underground in order to fight darkspawn that will certainly kill me then?"

He looked at her. "I know it sounds bleak."

She looked down at her hands. _Thirty years. I'll be fifty four. _"It's such a long time away; I guess you _could _look at our fate as being bleak. That is," she stared into the fire, "unless we wind up getting killed tomorrow, which kind of puts things into perspective. We all die, whether it be thirty years or thirty seconds from now. My father used to say that it didn't matter how long one lived, what mattered was what one did with their life. I don't know about you, but I intend to live mine to the fullest." She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her. Still shaken from her dream, she leaned against Alistair, sighing at the sound of his heart beating so close to her ear.

Alistair fought not to flinch, lest he disturb this moment. "I don't know how you do it," he confessed, reaching up to tentatively put a hand on her hair. "I don't know whether I should run towards Loghain or run away screaming, yet you sound so collected and composed."

Moira's brows knitted together. She felt anything _but_ collected or composed, but she guessed that she was just good at hiding her emotions from other people. "We have two options," she started, staring at the fire again. "One is to remain sitting in the dirt where Howe and Loghain have shoved us and the other option is that we stand up and fight. I've never been one to stay down long before; I have so little left to lose that I'm not going to start doing so now." It sounded better in her head, but now that she said the words aloud, she realized just how reckless her plans sounded. _What plans,_ she thought bitterly. _All you've come up with is gaining some support from nobles, if you're even able to do that, and then storming Amaranthine while demanding Howe's head on a pike. There are a lot of blanks that need to be filled in that scenario, which doesn't seem all that realistic to begin with._ If she went with what she was planning, she was likely to get herself killed, and then who would avenge her family? _You're going to have to come up with a Plan B._ Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. Feeling a cold that had nothing to do with the night air, Moira huddled closer to Alistair and tried to find some sort of comfort.

Neither of them slept for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

Denerim

Teyrn Loghain was having a harder time convincing nobles to join him than he originally planned, Rendon realized as he stood in the shadows of the Landsmeet chamber. _It is all that damned Cousland's fault,_ he seethed, clenching his hands into fists. Even in death, Bryce Cousland had supporters who were unwilling to believe the rumors that he and Loghain were spreading about him. Bann Teagan was the worst of the lot; it seemed as if his voice was the loudest in the room and where Teagan went, many of the nobles soon followed. If Loghain didn't do something about him soon, Rendon figured that he would have a revolt on his hands to deal with.

Part of him wanted to say that it didn't matter; that he had gotten what he had wanted, no, what he _deserved_. He was Teyrn of Highever now, someone who _finally_ had all the power that the Howes had been denied for generations. All his life, he had fought to be free of Bryce Cousland's shadow to no avail. It seemed that no matter what he did, Bryce was always the better one, the one that people looked up to and admired. Did he not run his own lands as well as the Couslands? Did he not have a fine child to inherit his titles upon his death as Bryce once had?

A small part of him regretted that at least _one_ of the Cousland siblings had also perished in the battle of Ostagar. He had never cared much for Fergus; the boy had been his father all over again and would have ruled very much like Bryce had he ever gained control of Highever. Moira, however, could have been put to good use. It was a shame that she hadn't been able to leave for Ostagar with her brother. He had planned for her to, had _counted_ on Bryce allowing her to become a Warden. Bryce had always been too lenient with his children, Moira in particular. He bowed to her every whim and catered to her every need. As a result, the girl had grown up with thoughts in her head that she was as equal to any man and that her opinion actually counted. Hell, Bryce had even trained her in politics as if she had been a second son should anything ever happen to Fergus. He had even gone so far as to put her in charge of the teyrnir instead of designating his seneschal as a temporary Teyrn. Had she been _his_ daughter, Rendon would have never allowed her to even _look_ at a sword, much less train with one. Moira had been a spoiled little brat, but she had been a _useful_ spoiled little brat. Had she been sent away, she wouldn't have witnessed the attack that he had laid onto Castle Cousland and he could have used the grieving sole survivor as a tool, as a way to gain even more power.

He thought of Thomas, the bastard son of Regina and that damned musician. He had always loathed the boy for what he represented, but he had claimed him as his own in hopes that he would one day prove useful. Had things worked out the way that he had previously mapped out, it wouldn't have taken him long to convince Thomas to marry Moira, therefore cementing the Howe family's future. After the King, the Couslands were one of the most politically influential families; having ties to them through marriage would have been most beneficial indeed. He gave a brief thought to his own son and Moira's feelings towards Nathaniel. Rendon knew that she was smitten with his son, but he had serious doubts that her feelings ran any deeper than a superficial infatuation. He also knew that his son was fond of her in return. Rendon's lip curled upward in distaste. Nathaniel had even gone so far as to say that he had _loved_ the girl.

Bah. What use was love? Love does not grant one powers, nor does it give one status. Love only makes one weak and vulnerable. It had made him blind to the dangers around him so that when it betrayed him, he had been caught unaware. _I loved Regina once,_ he thought. It was the first time in years that he had thought of his wife, the woman who would have rather spent her life following a wandering musician around penniless. She was gone into the Bannorn now, back to her parents' estate and he couldn't have been gladder to be rid of the bitch. He had punished her infidelity by forcing her to watch as he carved up her lover – oh, and how marvelous _that_ had been. _See? Love makes you weak. _She had sobbed at his feet before he had even begun in earnest, begging him to be merciful.

Power was not merciful. You either had it or you were under another's rule. Rendon Howe had enough of being under someone's thumb.

He still had two years before Nathaniel was scheduled to come back to Ferelden from the Free Marches. It would have been a simple task to forge documents, to convince Moira and Thomas that Nathaniel had died in battle abroad. With him out of the picture, Moira would have gone to Thomas' arms all the easier. By the time that Nathaniel had returned home, it would have been too late to change things.

Yet all of that was a moot point, seeing that Moira had not survived. Thomas was not an important part of any of his plans any longer, so it was easy to ignore him just as he had ignored the boy for the past eighteen years. And now with Cailan dead and Loghain behind the plan, Nathaniel's path to Anora and the Crown was all but paved with gold. _His_ son deserved no less than ultimate greatness. _His_ son would see the Howe name held in high esteem. Getting Nathaniel set up as King was the only reason that he still supported Loghain in anything these days. The man was too soft for his own good, brooding about his decision to leave Cailan in Ostagar to die. If Rendon was reading him correctly, it was almost as if he had actually _cared_ for the king, that he had felt as if he were betraying Cailan instead of leaving him to his fate. At least he wasn't brooding about turning a blind eye to the Couslands and Highever. It had been easy enough to sway Loghain to believe him when he said that Bryce had been selling secrets to their enemies in the west; Loghain would believe anything if it involved Orlais in any way and Rendon had known it.

He watched the Teyrn as he stormed off. Should he lose his usefulness, Rendon just might leave him to the mess that he was creating. He stroked his chin and smirked. _Chancellor Howe_, he mused. _That has a nice ring to it indeed. _He would have further plotted his own promotions, had his attention not been diverted.

"What is it?" he asked, glaring at the elven servant.

"There is a man requesting to speak to you, your Lordship," the woman said, bowing low. "He is a soldier from Ostagar bearing news for you."

Rendon paid the elf no mind and strode out of the chamber's back doors to where the Teyrn had a meeting room set up. There, he saw a soldier looking bloodied and exhausted waiting for him. "What is it you have to say?" he asked. "Be quick about it; I have little patience for those that waste my time."

"I come bearing a message out of Lothering," the dark haired man said, standing up straighter. "A woman wanted us to tell the Teyrn that…"

Rendon waved a dismissive hand. "The Teyrn is busy elsewhere. Tell me and I shall personally inform him."

The soldier swallowed and wet his lips. "A woman that we met in Lothering, a Grey Warden…"

"Wardens? I thought they all died in Ostagar." _At least Loghain was smart enough to start the rumor that they had been the ones to kill Cailan should any happen to escape that death trap,_ he thought. _He might be soft when it comes to following through with plans, but at least he still has a head for strategy._ "What did this Warden say?"

"She said that if the Teyrn wishes to rid himself of her and her companion that he'd have to try harder, my lord. She said that she knows what he did and that they will see him brought to justice."

"Hah, hardly likely," Rendon said, crossing his arms. So, they had two Wardens wanting to take on an entire army, did they? They would be destroyed before they even stepped foot inside Denerim.

"She also had a message for you, my lord."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? And what would this message be?"

"House Cousland shall see you dead for what you have done."

Rendon could practically feel the color drain from his face. He slowly turned to face the soldier. "What did you say?"

"She said that your days are numbered."

He tilted his head. "What did this woman look like? Leave out no detail; everything is important."

"She was tall, with dark brown hair and green, no, brown eyes."

_Those damned Cousland eyes. So it seems as if the brat still lives. This might cause a minor snag in my plans._ "And there were only two of them?"

"No, they were traveling with another woman who looked to be Chasind. She must have been an apostate; her magic was wild, like nothing that I have ever seen."

"Forget about the mage; who was the other Warden she was with?"

"It was a man. He had light hair and…" he frowned. "And for a second, I could have sworn that he looked exactly like King Cailan."

_The Cousland girl and Maric's bastard son. Interesting._ "Have you reported to anyone else what you have just told me?"

The soldier shook his head. "No, no one."

"Good." Rendon drew a dagger and sliced the soldier's throat before the soldier even had a chance to register that he was in danger. Gurgling, drowning in his own blood, the man went down to the ground with a heavy thud. "That's going to stain," Rendon said, calling in one of his own guards. "This man was a spy," he declared. "I want his body out of my sight and this mess cleaned up."

"Right away, my lord!"

Alone, Rendon pondered the news he had just received. Moira was too much her father's daughter; when she said that she would see him dead, Rendon knew that she would try her damndest to kill him. "It doesn't mean that she will succeed," he said aloud, staring out of the window and down on the city below. Denerim might be the kingdom's seat of power, but like any city, it had its share of scum that would do his bidding if the price was right. "I can't leave anything to chance. Moira wants us to try harder; let's see how she fares against this." Bryce was not the only one that had ties to Antiva. Rendon had been employing lesser Antivan Crow assassins for years to rid him of unwelcome political bumps that had plagued him in his own arling. Yet the lesser assassins would not do. As he said, he needed someone special to kill off Moira, someone that he could trust to get the job done right and get it done quickly. Walking out of the meeting room, he made his way down to his own personal rooms in the palace. Once there, he quickly sat at his desk and began to write. Denerim was closer to Antiva than Amaranthine was. He had a ship in the harbor that was swift; it could make it there and back quickly.

_Ignacio, I need your aid in a special mission. I require only one feather out of your flock; but this one must be the finest, the brightest one in your possession. Only the best will do – I will accept nothing less._


End file.
